


Happy Days

by AndeliaMaddock



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Anal Sex, Death, Deathclaws, Explosives, Fire, Food, Legion - Freeform, M/M, Sarcasm, Scarring, alcohol use, forced closeness, massive injuries, somewhat slow burn, terrible flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-03 01:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10956831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndeliaMaddock/pseuds/AndeliaMaddock
Summary: Midnight."Just." They leaned against the door frame of the small shack and looked out at the desert. They tilted their head back and looked to the moon. One arm lifted, and they tapped through a menu on their bulky Pip-Boy. "I need to leave for a bit. You two, try not to kill one another, yeah?" They didn't even look back, out they went, and the door shut with a whimper of rusted metal at their retreat.Arcade stepped back into the room that could loosely be described as a bedroom. He was never one to keep things much to himself, but they'd gone so abruptly, so quickly, he didn't have much of a choice. If he couldn't let them know how he felt, he could let Boone know his displeasure. He flung himself back onto the twin bottom mattress and sighed. The bed creaked loudly under his weight.Boone snorted. A disdainful snort, one that curled with barely contained disgust at that thin upper lip."You know, I think he was talking to you about that. I'm a doctor. Do no harm to my patients, and all that." He took note of the eye roll behind those grayed glasses Boone insisted on wearing even in the dark. Even inside. He inhaled his own derisive noise and kept it firmly to himself.





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TinyFakeFanficRock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyFakeFanficRock/gifts).



Midnight.

"Just." They leaned against the door frame of the small shack and looked out at the desert. They tilted their head back and looked to the moon. One arm lifted, and they tapped through a menu on their bulky Pip-Boy. "I need to leave for a bit. You two, try not to kill one another, yeah?" They didn't even look back, out they went, and the door shut with a whimper of rusted metal at their retreat.

Arcade stepped back into the room that could loosely be described as a bedroom. He was never one to keep things much to himself, but they'd gone so abruptly, so quickly, he didn't have much of a choice. If he couldn't let them know how he felt, he could let Boone know his displeasure. He flung himself back onto the twin bottom mattress and sighed. The bed creaked loudly under his weight.

Boone snorted. A disdainful snort, one that curled with barely contained disgust at that thin upper lip.

"You know, I think he was talking to you about that. I'm a doctor. Do no harm to my patients, and all that." He took note of the eye roll behind those grayed glasses Boone insisted on wearing even in the dark. Even inside. He inhaled his own derisive noise and kept it firmly to himself.

"Yeah. He probably was." Boone spoke so leisurely, but his words always felt tense. Terse.

It was almost as if Boone thought he might run out of air if he spoke too much. This was surely something Arcade himself disproved by existing, but Boone didn't seem smart enough to figure that out anyway.

That was perhaps a bit too unkind. It wasn't even true. Boone wasn't a fool. He was just. He just was Boone.

"What?" Boone leaned up a bit straighter, ruined the easy posture he'd held in the corner of the room. It broke the illusion he didn't give a damn about anything right then.

"What?" Arcade tilted his head, while he put a middle finger at the bridge of his glasses and adjusted them more firmly up his nose.

"You're staring. I don't like it."

"And I don't like people who go looking for trouble and then blame me when they get shot, but here we are." The words pulled out of his mouth before he could stop it. He almost regretted it, but instead, he finished it with a weak sweeping wave of his arms.

Boone pushed up from the musty flooring and took a step, just one, closer. "Excuse me?"

In, or out. Stand up, or back down. "Should I examine your ears? It's possible that blow to your cranium affected them as well." He remained sitting. He held his breath, though he did his best not to let that show.

Behind those dark lenses, he could see eyes narrow further, even in the dim light of the shack. "They're not here right now."

"How astute you are." He didn't swallow, despite the saliva that begged to go down. The lump that formed in his throat called for something to smooth it out, but he couldn't give in. Nor did he stand. He wasn't certain he could, even if he wanted to physically escalate it himself.

Boone smiled.

Arcade had read about blood pressure in a pre-War study. The research indicated that with the introduction of a frightening stimulus a subjects blood pressure would drop and that the sympathetic nervous systems general action was to mobilize the body's fight or flight response. This lead to lowered blood pressure during and immediately after such an encounter.

That was alright, Arcade's normal blood pressure was on the high side of normal, so he could stand to have it lower for a bit.

Boone took another step forward. "You really think you're smarter than everyone, don't you?"

Arcade, never at a loss for words for long, still stumbled over that one. "Pardon?" He didn't keep the incredulous tone out, he didn't think he could.

"Do you need your hearing checked now?"

"Probably. It's been a while since I've had it done. Oddly, I don't really like other doctors examining me." His own words felt a bit numb, but he held onto them. Worked his mind around them. It was easier than attempting to assess the nature of the previous question.

Boone paused his advance. He seemed to think about those words, to toss them around. A moment later, he advanced another step.

It wasn't a big shack. It only took a few paces before Boone reached him.

In men and women, there tended to be different responses to frightening stimulus. While flight and fight weren't the only responses, those tended to be the most often seen in the studies. Men tended to fight. Women tended to take flight.

Arcade always found that annoying. How running was seen as the cowardly thing. As the thing that was dishonorable.

He stood up. It wasn't running. But he didn't have to stay there and be cowed. He moved around Boone, angled his chest to take the brunt of any assaults, and attempted to leave.

Boone relaxed his shoulders back. That firm military posture eased into something else. The facade he'd held in the corner returned. "Relax."

"I'd prefer you not punch me again. That, funnily enough, wasn't pleasant."

"I won't."

"Oh, because those boot stomps on the ground ensured my safety. You're right there, when just a minute ago you were happy off against the wall."

"I'm tired. I'd like to sleep." He tilted his head back up towards the bed. Towards the top bunk.

Oh. Oh well.

Arcade laughed, though he couldn't really maintain it as something of happiness. It came out, then popped. He took a step, then fell back onto his claimed mattress. "By all means." Loosely, he motioned to the ladder to his left. "Though, you should probably make sure not to move that arm too much."

"Alright." And he went back to normal.

As normal as Boone could be, from Arcade's limited experience.

Just like that, Boone climbed up the old metallic ladder and slid onto the mattress above his. Boone adjusted his body for less than thirty seconds, then seemed to settle.

Arcade might admire that another time. It took hours for his mind to settle enough to let him sleep. Sometimes, he didn't sleep. Sometimes he just drank the sludge Julie called coffee, and kept himself awake through the day with research so boring it helped him sleep that night, so long as nothing more emotionally strenuous than looking at agave went on during the day.

Tonight was an up all night sort of night.

He couldn't blame Boone entirely for that, but it was much easier to try.

\---~~~---

"Food." The words coupled with a thrust of a warm plate towards Arcade's face.

He almost smacked his front teeth right into the chipped porcelain plate. Instead, he blinked, scooted back a bit, and looked up to the blurry image that was almost definitely Boone. A hand reached down and fumbled about a bit for his glasses, then he returned them to his face and returned his gaze to Boone's. "Breakfast in bed. And they say romance is dead."

That snort returned.

There were books that said in remote places in the world before the Greatest War there were peoples that communicated entirely in clicks and grunts. Arcade was convinced that, given enough time, he'd be able to translate all of the various snorts and grunts that Boone made. But was it worth it, if it meant he had to be around them for longer than absolutely necessary?

He took the plate and nodded, "Thank you."

They turned and left. Out the door, as though they had no intent to stay near Arcade long enough to hear more than that.

Arcade stood though and moved towards the entrance with his plate. There didn't seem to be much light coming in. The still barely open door confirmed that. Starlight, moonlight, and perhaps the light of a nearby fire, that's all that entered the shack.

Arcade didn't plan to eat alone in the dark. Not here. Not in this unfamiliar place. He stepped quickly to the closing door and moved towards the fire pit to the right.

"It's a beautiful night." Arcade sat on a large mostly smooth stone beside the fire and glanced over to Boone. "Do you usually eat when the moon's still out?"

"I woke up."

"That's... an answer to a different question, but alright." He wouldn't push. Well, normally he would. But Boone wasn't an easy egg to crack he could tell, and gecko eggs tasted slimy and chewy all in one when you let them cool, so he'd focus on eating what was in front of him instead.

The yolks were the best part. In a place where seasonings tended to be only the local ones you could forage, yolks were something that held a nice flavor all on their own. Not if overcooked though, in his experience. Luckily, Boone seemed to know what he was doing, and the yolks popped nicely and were absorbed into the thick gecko steaks. It really brought out a delicate flavor Arcade rarely expected from the tense, dangerous creatures.

"This is really quite good." He pushed another bite into his mouth a moment later, then settled just a bit more fully down onto the rock. It almost wasn't uncomfortable, if he just focused on the enjoyable meaty taste of the steak that soaked up the shiny orange yolk.

"You sound surprised." Boone ate quickly, as though he couldn't stop to savor it. As though this were nothing more than a chore, him fulfilling something his body needed and nothing more.

Maybe Arcade was projecting. He slowed his own eating a bit further and looked over to them. "I am, a bit. I suppose I pictured you as a bit more one note than being a chef."

"I'm not a chef. I just made food."

There was an added note of 'do not make this weird' in those words, Arcade was almost certain. It wasn't that Boone snorted, or narrowed those eyes, or even had too much tenseness in the words. It was just, they seemed to be present, even if not said.

So Arcade ate and returned to quiet pondering.

"Why do you stare?" Boone had narrowed eyes again this time, and an apparently empty plate.

Arcade's own was still half full. He blinked and refocused on Boone. "Hmm? I'm not."

"You look like you are."

"Well, I'm not, I assure you. I have far more interesting things to do than stare at someone who so quickly tends towards hostile." Arcade popped a bit of steak back into his mouth. Just stop talking. Stop.

Boone set his own plate aside and regarded Arcade from over the flames of the low campfire. He stared.

Arcade felt his toes crack and curl inside his boots. He kept otherwise calm and still, but he couldn't help that. "Why are you staring?"

"I'm not."

Oh, so that was the game, was it?

He didn't actually like staring. He hadn't been before. He'd just been thinking, and apparently, his eyes focused in Boone's direction. But now he couldn't back down. He couldn't stop.

Arcade blinked.

Boone stood and moved towards the shack.

Damn it.

\---~~~---

"I could go get a gecko for us. You really shouldn't be hunting again. That injury won't heal with magic."

"Isn't that what a Stimpak is?"

Arcade practically bruised the top of the bridge of his nose with his glasses and middle finger. But he relaxed his hand, and just arched a brow. "Really? Magic? Oh, sure, it's magic. Never mind the countless hours of boiling the broc flowers, or sterilizing the scavenged syringes. And who could mention how difficult it is to mince the xander root to the right size, and boil it down to exactly the right color? No, I'm sure it's not science, it's all just--" He stopped.

There was a smile. Not like the night before, there was nothing threatening about this one. It seemed almost loose, albeit it was still slight. It signaled the barest twitch of pleasure over thin lips.

"Was that... a joke?" Arcade stepped closer and clasped a hand over his chest. "Well, be still my heart, I never thought I'd see the day."

The smile left. It didn't snap away, but it eased down. Boone shrugged and turned back towards the door. "If you're that worried, come with me."

"Shouldn't someone stay here, in case--"

"You can stay," Boone held at the door, slunk against the frame like their friend had been the night before, "or you can come."

"I'll just. Write a note. Don't leave without me." Quick as he could, he tugged a square of paper from his front pocket and inked out a quick message. Immediately after, he pulled his plasma defender out and followed.

Boone lead. Silent, stoic as ever. He seemed to have moved on from that blip in his personality. That 'joke'.

Arcade let him lead, despite having much longer legs. He allowed it. In fact, he didn't mind it, as it meant he could keep an eye on Boone. He could make sure the moody soldier didn't do anything that classified as foolish. Or, at the very least, he could ensure that any stupid thing had minimal consequences.

"Are you sure we should go up? We saw geckos closer to that ranger station yesterday." He wasn't huffing. He wasn't having a difficult time hiking up the trail at all.

"Not there."

"We did see them there."

"We did. But I won't go by there, given a choice. If you want to go, then go."

"I'd almost think you didn't want me coming with..." He tried to steady his breathing.

"You really are smart."

Maybe he deserved that. Arcade rolled his eyes though, then focused back on the trail and keeping his footsteps quiet like Boone did. Apparently, they weren't just running on into trouble, unlike the day before.

That didn't keep trouble from hearing them.

He heard its breathing first. Puffs of air sucked in and huffed out. Each breath signaled how massive it was.

Boone must have heard it too, as he put a hand out, caught Arcade by the chest and stilled them both.

Arcade didn't need to be told to keep quiet. He held his breath, and peered past a rocky outcrop, intent to see the beast, even if he was frozen in place.

It lifted its head back and seemed to take in the surroundings. It didn't turn its head towards them but sniffed the air loudly. A long tongue, a remnant from the creature it used to be, flicked at the air for a moment.

An instant later it turned its entire body towards them. A wide maw opened, and it lifted its claws in a threatening display. Long fingers curled and swiped at the air, before it charged.

Boone pulled off the first shot.

"Do you want to die?" Arcade managed to aim a plasma beam and let it splash over the beast though.

"If I take it out first, fine." Another bullet.

In holotape movies, gunfire was loud, certainly. But it always had that Old World Hollywood lack of realism. Maybe their guns were really quieter, or maybe it was just the sound decay after ages that changed things. But guns, especially guns like Boone's, were intensely loud. Distressingly loud.

He really would have a difficult time hearing Boone for a while after this.

Arcade took a step back and leveled off another charge towards the beast. Another. "We need to go." Another, oh please let it be enough.

He could see that set in the jaw. That same determined look Boone had held when they'd charged straight on towards those assassins, with no thought to strategy and staying alive.

Arcade advanced a bit and sprayed the beast that was a foot or two from Boone with as many shots as he could get off.

One claw swiped at Boone's gun and tossed the hunting rifle aside. Then, it lifted the other and howled with a clear intent to tear into Boone.

Arcade tore off another two shots in that time. "Get back!"

It was meant for Boone, to keep him from so stupidly taking the brunt of this things attacks. To keep from being so brave it circled back around to foolish.

The deathclaw didn't look at him, so much as tilt its head, and aim its face in his direction. Glazed white eyes glistened in the afternoon sunlight. Then it charged towards him.

Blood pressure dropped. Fight, or flight, neither took place. There was that third one, the one people didn't like to talk about. The one that didn't make sense to so many. Freeze.

He could think. He thought about how those eyes were vestigial at this point, no longer necessary when it sensed the world around it so well with that tongue, those ears, and that sense of smell.

He could smell. Dust clouded up around them with all the movement, and the sun baked something long dead and rotting nearby. It tugged, putrid, at his nostrils.

Arcade couldn't breathe; his lungs grew hot and constricted. Arcade couldn't blink, unlike before with Boone when he had felt there was no other real option.

That staring match had lasted at least a minute though, and been in front of a smoky fire. This was no more than a second. He didn't have time to blink, even if he wanted to.

Would it be better to blink, if he didn't have to see his own death?

He blinked and pulled the trigger, once, twice more, aimed directly at their chest.

Time spun back into normal. The deathclaw rose over him, formidable in height, if not quite towering compared to Arcade. Claws pulled back and brought down slashing agony.

At least he hadn't frozen too long.

Boone was right. It didn't matter. He'd kill it and if he died, so be it.

Even with gashes in his chest, even with blood that stained his admittedly dirty labcoat, he held himself upright. He aimed another shot, right into that open mouth, right over that tongue that probed the air.

It screeched, low, and slumped forward. Crumpled over him. It forced him down.

He was already so focused on only the deathclaw, already so deafened with the gunfire so far, he barely registered he'd heard another round from Boone.

He blinked. A heavy dark shadow moved over him.

Boone stepped beside him after a moment and reached to heave the beast away. "Are you awake?"

"For certain variables of awake, I'm sure." It felt a bit like he was listening to his own voice in a holotape. Like it was distant, hollow. It had that same tang of sarcasm that most of everything he said had, but it just didn't lift how he wanted it to. How it normally would have.

"Stay with me."

He wanted to reply, really, he did. But he found his throat just didn't let him. His own tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. He just nodded weakly and allowed Boone to grunt and force the deathclaw off.

"Shit."

A smile pulled at his chapped lips. He couldn't help but enjoy that look of distress just a bit more than he should have in the moment. Tongue thick or not, he forced an unwanted reply, "Just use some magic."

Boone didn't smile. He reached into one pocket in his cargos and pulled out the bag and syringe. "Guess it's good I didn't use it like you said to."

Oh, what a bastard. He kept that grin, weak though it was, and looked down at the wreckage that his body had become.

It wasn't quite a disemboweling. His organs had been missed, as far as he could tell, but all of his ribs and chest had been swiped across.

Arcade lay back down over a rock and looked towards Boone's face. Searched for something he didn't find. "I guess it is. Though, if I bleed out..." It wasn't a dramatic pause. He felt weak and his vision blurred. Arcade shut his eyes and shuddered a breath out.

The stab of the syringe didn't hurt. It flooded relief through his system. It provided a jolt of life, kicked his blood into clotting, forced his cells to do their damnedest to repair.

"Should I move you?"

Arcade blinked. Once, twice, three times. The question fumbled weakly at his brain, until it finally connected and he nodded. "Yes." Stimpaks helped, sure. But there was only so much a Stimpak could do, and he'd already lost a lot of blood. He'd already been weakened.

He could probably stand, and he could probably even walk. But when Boone reached down and lifted him like he could carry Arcade all day, he didn't fight it.

Hell, he encouraged it. Arcade slumped into their arms, and just let them hike right on down the trail, until they got to the shack they'd all claimed the night before.

Boone kicked the door in and followed through the front room into the bed area on the left. He placed him, almost gingerly, on the bed. "What should I do?"

Seemed he had a volunteer nurse. Arcade could think of worse things. "There should be bandages in that medical box. I put them there last night while you were hiding the Stimpak I gave you."

"It saved you, didn't it?"

"I have half a dozen." But he had to admit, he might not have survived the trek down, carried or not, without one. He should have taken one himself, but he'd been in a rush to go after his stubborn patient. "Bring two back, along with the bandages. Grab one of the purified waters too."

Boone was already there in the other room, rummaging through the metal kit. "Anything else?"

"I don't know. I think they put a whiskey in there. They put so much everywhere though, it might be in one of the boxes too. Just, if you find it, I wouldn't mind a drink right about now. And maybe take some of the bandage squares too. Wounds don't clean themselves."

"Yeah." And that was it. Boone returned, objects held against his chest with his good arm.

Arcade felt a tinge of guilt when he looked at the blood on the other arm, that seeped through the bandages. "Did you bring two Stimpaks?"

"I did." Boone carefully placed all the items beside Arcade, then stood still and tall beside him.

Arcade couldn't quite read that expression, but given how helpful Boone had been, he wondered if it was just Boone waiting for more instructions.

"Come here, let me take care of that arm." He sat up, albeit a bit weakly.

"You're--"

"A doctor, who doesn't intend to let his patient get away from treatment a second time. Now, sit down."

Boone huffed. Like it was a second cousin to the snort, Arcade was certain it held deeper meaning than just an exhale of air. But Boone did settle down beside Arcade, though a bit clumsily. The mattress called out with a creak beneath their combined weight.

Arcade took the bandages off carefully, used a square cotton bandage soaked in purified water to wipe the blood away and clean it, then wrapped it back up.

This time, Boone didn't complain that he'd had worse and not needed a nurse. This time, Boone kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused forward.

Arcade wasn't sure which he liked better from Boone, but he'd accept silent compliance. "Do you have a phobia of needles?"

"What?"

"You didn't use the Stimpak when you insisted you would last night. So, why not?"

"I." Boone bit his lip and turned his head just a little, so Arcade couldn't see his expression as easily unless he leaned in. "No, it's fine."

"Uh huh. Well, phobia or not, I'm about to stick you. I'd prefer you not bleed out before you can be of use."

That got a heavy swallow from his patient.

Was it really a phobia? Was it guilt on how Arcade had been the more injured one? Was it just he was thirsty?

Arcade pressed the syringe in and watched their expression. Muscles clenched at the jaw, teeth ground against one another, and those lips twitched and curled.

Definitely phobia. But the injection was done. Arcade pulled the syringe away and set it on the floor. It would need to be sterilized again anyway, a bit of dirt wouldn't kill it. "Alright, it's fine now."

Boone took a shaky breath and glanced down at his right arm. "Thanks."

There didn't seem to be that normal irritation that tinged most words Boone aimed in Arcade's direction. He would take it at face value. "You're welcome. Now, if you don't mind, I would really like to be bandaged up myself. But, seeing as how it's my entire chest..."

"I can help. Just, tell me what to do."

"First. I need this coat and shirt off." He stood, though maybe he'd been wrong before when he'd thought he could have walked the trail down. He felt unsteady, like he'd already had a shot or three of whiskey, despite the bottle being unopened.

Boone caught him, quick as could be, and helped Arcade stabilize. "Easy."

"I said the same thing to you last night, look where that got me." But he flashed a white smile and looked down a bit at them. "But I guess you've got a point. Think you could help me out of these? Red's my color, but not like this."

Boone nodded and seemed to ignore the bulk rest of his words. Then again, Boone seemed to ignore so many of the things Arcade said. He had on the entire trek out of New Vegas and into the desert proper. Only their mutual friend had paid a damn bit of attention to Arcade.

It didn't matter though. Boone helped. Fingers clutched and tugged at his jacket, and carefully pulled the sleeves down until the bloody lab coat fell in a heap on the floor.

Arcade went to work at the buttons, but found he couldn't quite stand long enough to get the task done. With only a bit of tremble, he sat back down on the mattress. Springs squeaked noisily under him, and the bed groaned under his weight.

Boone perched next to him, and seemed focused on the task of assisting. Fingers worked at Arcade's bottom buttons, while Arcade moved methodically down from the top.

"You know, I've had help undressing before, but never under circumstances like these."

Boone's fingers stilled.

Damn. He just had to try and break the tension. He had to go and make it weird. He just couldn't keep his mouth--

Boone smirked. "Normally I'm the one in your position. I don't particularly care for it."

"Being undressed, or being injured and cared for?"

Boone blinked. He finished with a button and moved to tug the shirt down Arcade's arms. "Being cared for."

Arcade assisted, until it pulled down over his arms and dropped down onto the mattress behind him. He reached back, and moved it onto the floor, over his fallen coat. "I can't help but notice you didn't mention the injured part of that."

Boone seemed focused entirely on the five slashes across Arcade's chest. While the bleeding had stalled to an ooze, thanks to the 'magic' of the Stimpak from before, it had certainly not stopped.

He couldn't hold in the sigh. Fine, back to business. He didn't need his nurse freezing up. He reached for the whiskey, broke the seal, and pulled a swig down. Satisfied, he handed it over. "Just a drink. Shouldn't overdo it until we know we can."

Boone did as told, took a pull, then capped it and set it aside. "Should we... clean the wounds with it?"

"Is that how the NCR does it? Scratch that, don't answer. I don't want to know. No, whiskey in a wound might kill the germs, but it kills the tissue too. Plus, I'd rather numb the pain with it, not make the wound burn hotter than the sun." He reached for another cotton square, and poured some water over it, then began to wipe at his own injuries.

It was easier when it was someone else. Not that he got very much time working on others in a medical sense, but he'd done it a few times when there were enough patients in the Fort. But when it was just him, and it was his body, he didn't feel nearly so confident. And considering how confident he was with normal patients was about a 1 on a scale of 10, that was a problem.

"Think you could get these lower wounds washed off? Anything to get this going faster." He wasn't panicked, he was calm. He was definitely calm. Seeing his own blood and torn tissues was fine.

Arcade leaned back against the pillow. He couldn't even sit up, but he attempted to make it look like a comfort need, not an actual physical demand his body made of him.

"Like this?" They moved over him just a bit, and carefully moved another square over rended skin.

Boone took directions surprisingly well. Or maybe it shouldn't be surprising, Arcade realized. He was a soldier boy. He seemed to crave direction, now that Arcade paid a bit more attention.

"Just like that." He relaxed into the mattress further and convinced himself not to pay attention to how dirty the material beneath him was on bare and bloody skin. He couldn't think about that. "Very gently. Good."

He didn't like other doctors examining him. He didn't like them seeing him as a patient, or really as anything other than a colleague. It was weird, and Julie prodded at him about it sometimes.

This was a bit different. They were distinctly not colleagues. Boone knew not a damn thing about medicine. He'd just follow directions, and Arcade could be in charge. He could lead here.

On a scale of 1 to 10, he was about a 5 on confidence in his ability to do that, and about a 5 also on how well he'd take care of his injuries with Boone's assistance. That was a marked improvement, so he wouldn't pay attention to how that was still not very high.

It was fine. He'd be fine. Everything was fine.

Arcade reached for the whiskey when his wounds were cleaned and Boone sat so near, waiting. He poured another shot, more or less, into his mouth, then handed the bottle back over to Boone. One hand wiped away some of the beads of alcohol from his chin and neck. No need to be sloppy here, even if everything he saw started to fuzz.

Boone didn't sip this time, he just capped it and set it aside. "What next?"

He took a steady breath, then pushed himself more upright and tried to keep himself there. "I'll show you. Just grab those bandages. And I should have some needle and thread in my coat on the floor. Get that too."

\---~~~---

Arcade blinked awake to the sound of a quiet laugh. "What?" He felt a bit more drunk than just that amount of alcohol normally would have done. Then again, he had lost a nice amount of blood. It only made sense he was still this woozy.

Still, Boone laughing was enough to get him to attempt to sit up.

"Easy there." Boone stood before him, nothing more than a dark form barely lit up by a candle nearby.

Arcade blinked and reached limply for his glasses.

Boone placed them right on Arcade's face. "Sorry I woke you."

An apology. A still dim mind began to turn that around. It almost made sense. Then he remembered that he'd been injured pretty badly and his everything hurt. Two Stimpaks and a few shots of whiskey meant he likely wouldn't die and he didn't feel as bad as he could, but it wasn't enjoyable.

Even if that much attention on him had been oddly enjoyable. Odd, seeing as how he had normally hated that sort of thing. Too much attention was a bad thing, if applied wrong. Just like too much alcohol could be a bad thing, though here he didn't think he'd had enough. He could still feel.

He blinked again and looked down at the bandages that held in place over his stitches. Their stitches. Halfway in, he'd been unable to continue with a steady hand, and he'd instructed Boone in it.

That had been interesting. He'd halfway expected a butchered job, but Boone seemed competent enough. Maybe he'd had practice sewing up his own clothes in the past, or that steady sniper's finger came in handy for sewing flesh as well as pulling triggers. Either way, Arcade's slightly tipsy eyes had approved of Boone's work.

Oh, right. Boone had said something, hadn't he? Arcade shook his head. "It's fine." He even offered a little dismissive wave, "I don't mind. What uh. What was funny though?"

Boone didn't have an expression that made him look sheepish.

Arcade convinced himself that was just a trick of the light. It was only because of the flicker of the candle that Boone had seemed to be so embarrassed by something. A guy like that, he didn't ever feel self-conscious, did he?

"Well?" Arcade adjusted just a bit, moved a smidgen closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to them.

"I found your note."

"My note?"

"To--"

"Oh, right, right." He grinned then. A moment slid into the next, and his chest hurt from laughing. "Oh, you did, did you? Well good. Hey, hand it over. I want to see just how naive Arcade of a few hours ago was, for being hopeful about our little hunting adventure."

There was that look again. Definitely, Boone was sheepish, even if it only lasted a half a second. Boone nodded and moved back towards the note, on the reloading bench. He handed it over, and moved aside so some of the light might reach.

  
_Hey_   
_Thanks for leaving me with Boone. I really enjoy his company. There's nothing quite like being punched in the face for pulling him away from a Legion assassin he so clearly wanted to be killed by. But, I think he made a joke at me today, so maybe he's not actually as stoic and boring as I thought!_

_Seriously though, you're an asshole for making me come along when you already had him in your little band. The Three Musketeers, we are not, and especially when the one gluing us together takes off at the first sign of trouble in our unhappy little family you insisted on forming._

_Anywho, Boone's glaring at me again. If you come back and we're gone, we probably not dead, we're just out hunting for lunch._   
_Arcade_

  
Well, that was certainly not the kind of note he'd expected Boone to find. Hell, he'd only planned to come back and burn it in the campfire while the meat cooked anyway, he hadn't even thought that their courier friend would see it.

Yet, here they were. He handed it up to Boone. "Well, if that made you laugh, I guess I don't have to worry you'll kill me in my sleep then?"

There was still a light in the corner of the room, coming from the candle he'd found in one of the various metal boxes scattered around the shack.

A bit of light died behind Boone's eyes. He stiffened. "No."

"Good." Idiot. You ruined it. "I worried a bit last night, with how mad you got."

"I. I wasn't mad."

"Yeah? You seemed pretty perturbed." Even breaths. Don't inhale and hold it, that wouldn't help the wounds. But still, he found it difficult to follow his own internal coaching. Social situations, that was his real flaw here. For all his clever words and enjoyment chatting with people who didn't mind a bit of caustic sarcasm here or there, he was rather at a loss with people like Boone.

"I wasn't." Boone left. It was nothing more than a turn, and then he was out through the doorway, and the shack door shut behind him.

Arcade let his breathing regulate. No held breaths, no forced breaths.

Arcade Gannon was definitely fine.

And when Boone entered the shack again half an hour or so later, he wasn't shocked he hadn't run the soldier off. No, he definitely expected that Boone would return and hadn't abandoned him for saying terrible things, like always.

"Dinner's ready."

"You spoil me. Breakfast and dinner."

Boone shifted from foot to foot, then stepped forward and handed the plate over.

"You could eat near me, you know." He didn't know where the invitation came from. He wasn't sure if he meant it. Likely, he'd just ruin things again.

"Alright." Just like that, Boone retreated again, out of the shack and towards the campfire no doubt.

Just like that, any chance to take back the invitation was gone.

That was just as well. Arcade waited until Boone returned with their plate before he started in on his own gecko steak.

Boone settled in on the rickety rusted chair before the table and went to work.

It was weird. Eating seemed to be work for Boone, and not work that he particularly enjoyed.

Arcade didn't mind that the meal was essentially the exact same one he'd started the day with. He enjoyed a little consistency. He could have done without the slashing in the middle and worrying he'd die, but hey. Nothing in life was perfect or came without work.

Slowly, he ate his own food.

Soon after, he felt the alcohol work its way through his system, and he couldn't stay awake much longer. "Well, dinner was fun, but I think I should get a bit more beauty sleep if I want to make up for how ugly I'll be with my shirt off." It was a joke, but he couldn't even manage to laugh. He was too tired. Arcade put the plate down beside the bed, and his glasses next to it.

He barely lay down before he was sleeping again.

 


	2. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is fine.

Julie once described to him that the way you might spot an addict of alcohol-- she didn't like calling them alcoholics, for one reason or another-- was by how early they desired a drink after waking up. Even if they didn't submit to the urge, desiring a drink immediately was usually a key sign, and it was one she inquired on when she suspected alcohol abuse.

He wanted a drink. Morning didn't even seem upon them, but his chest ached and his throat was parched. Sure, alcohol tended to dry his throat more than anything, but that was what the purified water was for. After. During. It didn't matter.

Arcade Gannon needed a shot or two of whiskey, and he wouldn't let Julie's judging voice guilt him out of pain relief. So up and out of bed he swung his gangly legs, and across the floor, he trudged to the medicine box.

Empty. No whiskey for him then. Maybe Boone had left it somewhere near the bed after the stitches? Arcade blinked and blearily looked to it. In the near total darkness, where only spots of moonlight lit the way, he couldn't tell if the whiskey was inside. He definitely heard a fire crackle from outside though.

Maybe breakfast was here and ready for him. Or, maybe Boone had shifted his new charitable mood back to its usual self, and it was only a fire and breakfast for Boone.

He ambled on over to where he could barely see the door and set out of the shack and towards the fire pit. Luckily, he'd been right, and the fire was going. The path was clear and quick, and soon he sat across from Boone, just as he had a short day before.

Arcade rubbed his hands together, then placed them a foot or so from the low fire. "Lovely morning. Not too chill, just enough to make the fire nice."

"Mm." Boone nodded. He adjusted a thick stick in the fire and the light reflected off the gray of his sunglasses.

At least it wasn't a grunt, a snort, or any number of those other ridiculous noises. It wasn't a word, but there was a nod. That was enough.

Arcade glanced down beside Boone and grinned. "Ah. Just what I was looking for." The amber bottle shone in a particularly brilliant way past the orange glow of the flames.

"Breakfast is almost done."

Arcade took his turn to nod, though his was more pointed towards the bottle. "Pain's up. Stimpaks just don't do quite enough to numb it, even if they speed the whole healing process up."

Boone maybe smiled. It was a bit difficult to tell when it shifted so quickly as Boone reached down to hand over the bottle. "I thought the same thing this morning."

"Again. Morning? So when do you actually find the time to sleep?" He accepted it by the neck and had the cap off shortly. A swig later, he decided that wasn't enough and managed another. Then, finally, he capped it again and set it down between the two of them.

"I don't sleep great lately."

"Any particular reason?"

"None."

"Uh huh. None at all, or none you're sharing with me? I'm a doctor, you know. Maybe I could help."

There was that ghosted smile, one that didn't remain in place nearly long enough. "I doubt it." Boone reached for the bottle.

The liquid shifted with the motion, and Arcade paid attention to just how much was left, swashing about in that glass. Not much. Clearly, they'd not been very kind to their livers in an attempt to heal their injuries lately. But at least they could be maybe-addicts together.

He almost said as much, but he figured he'd done about half of that work on the whiskey, and he didn't particularly want to discuss his own issues either, sleeping or otherwise. He managed to keep quiet for a long while. The only sounds between the two of them came from the crackle of the fire and meat, the sound of the bottle and its contents, and their sighs of satisfaction after gulps of burning whiskey.

It was a big bottle. Halfway down, he paused, then let out a quiet, "You know, we might need to make this last." And he wished he hadn't acknowledged it because then he was the one who felt a bit guilty.

"Mm." Another nod. Boone flipped a steak onto the tin plate and handed it over. "Bit crispy."

Some people, they got more chatty when they were drunk. Some people stayed the same. He wondered absently between bites on whether it might work to make Boone more talkative if there was something he cared to talk about. The NCR guy wasn't the sort to idly prattle on, that was certain.

He swallowed a particularly 'crispy' piece with a bit of difficulty. Maybe Boone wasn't the kind to talk more, but he was the sort to pay less attention to his cooking when there was a lot of alcohol to be had. Finished with the bite, he reached for the bottle again, to swallow a bit and relax his throat.

Boone moved the bottle behind him and looked directly at Arcade.

"Oh, come on. I need to drink something after that."

A single raised brow. "I could get some water for us."

He huffed, rolled his eyes, and even offered a sigh. But yes, he'd said no more whiskey, hadn't he? "Fine. Go get some."

He did. Boone stood, set his plate on the makeshift rocky chair, and headed back into the shack they'd made their own.

Arcade took another bite and chewed on that bit of obedience and consideration to what Arcade asked for. He hadn't considered Boone might be thoughtful of his needs even the day after. Arcade was certain to make it, he'd be fine given another few days. Was it guilt, or was this how Boone always was and that's why their friend thought maybe the three of them could travel together?

He squinted at the bottle of whiskey. Arcade barely noticed when Boone returned to his seat, so focused as he was on the bottle and the thoughts in his head.

Boone reached out and offered the bottle of water. "Here. We've got a few left, but if they don't return by tomorrow, I'm headed back to Dinky. There's enough fresh water there."

Dinky. He couldn't hold back the snort, followed by the laughter. "Dinky? A heretofore unnamed lover of yours, perhaps? He sounds... incredible."

That face held confusion for a beat, then shifted to amusement. Boone shook his head, and reached for the water bottle. After a sip, he returned it and replied, "It's the dinosaur."

"Eh, ignotum per ignotius, but I accept."

"Excuse me?"

"Your answer, it's about as ridiculous as what I thought, though it's far less interesting. To think a man like you would have a guy named Dinky is incredibly satisfying. A dinosaur is fine though."

There came the confusion again, and it held fast. Brows lowered, head tilted, lips firm and pressed together. He even let out a quiet puff of air, as though it might help him figure it all out. Then, those lips parted.

Arcade put a hand up. "Don't mind me, I'm only teasing, and I don't know better when I'm drunk. Maybe I should just go to bed again now, sleep this all off?" He pushed up from the stone and tried to move back towards the door.

Boone all but lunged forward and caught him by the chest and an arm. "Easy."

"C-could... Say the same." Falling into the fire would have been one thing. A much more painful thing, no doubt. But being caught by his injury wasn't a pleasant diversion from immolation, not in the moment.

Boone caught on quickly enough and moved beside Arcade to provide more gentle support. Low, a soft rumble at Arcade's ear, "Sorry."

"It's fine." He had more words, but they all rambled into how not fine he felt at the moment. Those bled away into quiet acceptance at the hand that held so firm at his back and rubbed so gently at the shoulder opposite Boone. "While you're here, mind walking me back? I could make it, but..."

Boone helped to turn Arcade.

Together they walked. Together, they entered the shack.

Boone helped Arcade get right back into bed, then crouched down and asked in that same low voice, "Anything else I can do?"

"Well, short of staying and making sure I don't die in my sleep, no."

Boone stood and stepped over to the metal table and chair at the foot of the bed, then lifted the chair and set it before Arcade's mattress. He settled into it silently. He stared.

It was Arcade's turn to feel that prick of confusion that blossomed into amusement. He waved Boone away, "I was kidding, don't do that. I'm fine, just a bit drunk and a bit more painful than numb. It'll fade fine. You should take care of the fire or something."

"Alright."

"And don't go hunting on your own again! I won't have you coming back to me needing more bandages, we don't have nearly enough for both of us to sport chest scars."

That head didn't face him, but Arcade could almost convince himself he saw the hint of a smile, curled at the corner. Then, Boone opened those lips again. "Alright. Hope they return today then."

"Me and you both. If not, maybe we should look for them. Or kick their ass if they were fine."

Boone nodded and retreated back out the doorway into the front room. The metal creaked when the door opened and then returned to its place.

Arcade lay back. Though he would never recommend alcohol as a sleep aid, it worked wonders for him in shutting his mind up. Confused, drunk thoughts rarely lead to him trying to ponder as intensely as sober ones, though the confused drunk ones were more fun when it came to acting on urges.

He had a few urges that needed to settle down before he'd get sleep.

One hand shifted down his body, avoided the sure to scar tissue and thick bandages, and ducked right into his pants. Needy sloppy motions helped him get it out. It took a minute or so before he rose to the fullness he needed, but after that, he was usually quick to finish when the alcohol was in him. This wasn't a marathon, it was a sprint, and he was glad that sometimes he could help himself to a satisfying and short end to things, without all the fanfare he normally needed.

He didn't let himself ponder the low voice that rumbled in his ears before he'd spent himself. Arcade couldn't consider the awful things he made that voice say, demanded that voice do. He just bundled that all up and let the voice go when he finally got off.

Alcohol tended to help with that mental distance, too.

He wasn't asleep immediately, but soon enough. Maybe a minute later, maybe less.

\---~~~---

It might have been morning, for all Arcade could tell from the soft light that entered the shack. He shifted a bit and rolled onto his side carefully. Something below the belly flopped down, and he blinked and adjusted his glasses (damn it, had he left them on again?) then glanced at the guilty part. Ah, he'd forgotten to tuck it up after his fun.

Down he reached and pushed it into his pants. Arcade sighed contentment, and adjusted himself for comfort in his underwear. He'd wipe himself off in a moment, but for the time being-- Oh god. Oh no. Arcade shot upright in the bed. He stared up at Boone, who held white knuckled at the metal chair backrest across from the bed.

Boone, for his part, stared back with eyes that seemed just as intense behind those shaded lenses. That chest did not rise and fall as it normally did in the soldier; it held tense, like the muscles in Boone's neck and face.

Arcade stood carefully and turned towards the doorway. "Well, you know what, I'm starving. If we've got any more of those steaks, I could cook us up something nice."

"I made something already."

Well just fuck him then, right? Arcade laughed though and clapped his hands together. "Oh, sure, great. No surprise there. Gecko steaks?"

"Yeah. They keep well, and don't need seasoning."

Funny, normally he wouldn't get an explanation there, would he? It was like Boone had to explain something, and he flat out didn't want to explain just what this was. What they both knew Boone had seen.

It was nothing. It wasn't as though Boone hadn't seen another man before, even if he wasn't into them. Soldiers couldn't really go their entire lives without seeing one, anyway. And Boone had no way of knowing what Arcade had whispered about, what he'd gotten off to.

This was still awkward, that wouldn't go away. But at least it was only outright awful in his head.

Arcade reached the fire first. A minute or so later, Boone sat across from him. He crossed his left leg over the right and reached down for his own plate. Leg used as a makeshift table, he dug in.

He didn't watch Boone. Couldn't bring himself to not-stare like he had a night or so before. He just ate silently, shoveled it in like Boone did. At least it wasn't burnt, and even it wasn't the fresh, it tasted just fine.

If he had to eat gecko one more day, even if Boone made it so nice, he was kicking someone's ass. Probably their leather armored friend. Leather be damned, they were going down.

He hadn't minded that thought last night, of Boone going down. Thin lips open wide, wrapped around-- Arcade huffed, and stood, plate held up and angled downward, right below his belly. "I need water."

"I brought some. Sorry. Here." Hands fumbled that normally were so sure. Boone almost dropped the water over the low fire, but he managed to keep it up.

Well. He adjusted his glasses and sat back down, plate on his lap. "Thanks." He held the bottle and stared at it for a moment. Then he uncapped it and poured just a few sips down his throat. A bit slid past the corners of his lips, ran down his chin, and along his neck. He capped the bottle and wiped the wetness away with the back of his hand.

It wouldn't help the real problem he'd been leaving for, but that was fine. It was a pleasant distraction from something pleasantly distracting.

Maybe he was still drunk. It couldn't have been that long between a nighttime breakfast where the sun hadn't risen yet, and a no doubt early afternoon lunch.

Drunk made the most sense, for why the thoughts shifted where they didn't belong. Anything else was absurd.

"I think I saw some Legion tracks nearby. Not the ones from before."

"Oh? You didn't go far, did you?"

"The other meat didn't hold, so I got some more." It came out slow, careful like.

Arcade sighed and rubbed at his forehead, tried to work out the worried creases. "Ah, you hunted alone?"

"I'm much better off than you right now."

He wanted to argue, but anything he had to say amounted more to emotions than logic, so he nodded. "Fine. So, Legion?"

"Yeah."

"You... didn't go tracking them beyond just maybe seeing their steps though, right?" And if he wove that sentence with a tone that held the implication there was a correct answer, he couldn't really help that.

Boone actually squirmed in his seat. "I may have followed it for a minute or so. Until I saw a lot of footprints."

Oh good. "You don't think anyone noticed you though, right?"

"I'm not an amateur. I know what I'm doing. No one tracked me back here, and I didn't see anyone directly."

"How could you possibly know it was Legion?"

Well, there was that derisive snort again, and it wiped away any discomfort at going against what Arcade had requested. Boone sat more fully upright. "I'm a sniper. I'm NCR. I know." He tilted his head just down enough to look at Arcade over the glasses.

This was the absolute most he'd heard Boone talk, and he focused on that instead of the fact that Boone had casually informed him that there was a gathering of multiple Legion soldiers not far from here. Sure, they hadn't been spotted exactly, but Arcade didn't enjoy what it might mean.

He stood once more and turned towards the shack. "Think we should be ready, in case they come this way?"

"I'm ready. I just figured you might want a bit more sleep before you prepared."

"We could leave."

"I'd rather stay."

There was a dose of foolish in that courageous stance. Or was it just all stubbornness and Arcade blended it together far too much? He didn't know, but he set his shoulders back too and tried to focus on the moment. Food in his belly, alcohol likely removed from his system, he felt much better than he had. The shack would be enough cover that they could plan a defense.

It probably wasn't necessary. It's not like anyone knew they were there.

Oh. But the dead Legion assassins probably hadn't come after them independently those two days back, had they?

Oh good. He chuckled out loud and stepped on towards the front. "What could be worse, I mean, really?"

Boone poured a bucket of sand and crumbly dry dirt over the fire, then stirred it up with the stick. He followed quickly after. His boots crunched against the desert, over rock and dust. "They could be here already."

"Rhetorical questions you answer, and real ones you shuffle aside? You're really something. I can see why they keep you around."

"Everyone's good at something."

He looked a moment too late to see that smile for more than his own heart's beat. Arcade matched it, though for longer. "And that's your specialty?"

"That, or making gecko steaks."

Arcade felt a bit of slightly pained laughter bubble up from his chest, and he let it.

It was a joke. Two jokes in a row. Maybe Boone was more frightened than he let on, or maybe he was finally loosening up. Either way, it made him a teensy bit more human. Unfortunately. Arcade rather preferred disliking the soldier type. It meant far less awkward moments actually giving a damn what they thought. And so help him, he didn't need to fantasize about Boone when sober too.

\---~~~---

Arcade stood from the chair once more and did his best to stretch. With how the bandages clung to him, with the injuries beneath, he wouldn't reach too far, he wouldn't lower too much. But he got a bit of the tenseness out of his flesh and eased his mind just enough.

This was the chair Boone had been near, wasn't it? Here, Arcade had turned it towards the slight holes in the walls that let strips of daylight in, but before it had faced the bed. It had marked how Boone had seen him, splayed out and spent from hours before.

Well, he couldn't see his own face, but just that thought got him tightening up a bit, and he imagined he had a flush over his features. Arcade carefully crouched down and lifted up a bit of the purified water, brought it to his lips, and swallowed.

He offered a glance over his shoulder at Boone, who entered the room with quiet steps. "Something up?"

"No. I don't think they're headed this way right now."

"We could always leave."

"Not without--"

"Right, right, we wouldn't want them to come here and find us gone and the Legion waiting." He hadn't forgotten. He was just. Arcade stood. Normally, he bent his shoulders just a bit inward, downward, as though it would make himself less imposing. As though he could shrink his presence and be noticed a bit less. Here, the shoulders set back, and he stepped closer to Boone. "I can't believe they left us like that. Not that I want anything to have happened, but if it didn't, they've got a lot to explain for just taking off without much warning and expecting us to stay here. I don't know about you, but I'm not a trained dog."

A few days before, he might not have caught that look. Irritation was normal when Arcade spoke at the start, but here it only flashed right at the ending. At the reference to dogs. It wasn't present in Boone's face right up until those last words.

Arcade arched a brow and adjusted his glasses right up to the top of the bridge of his nose.

Boone shifted, it was a subtle movement of his feet to make them spread out just a bit and a tilt of that chin back. "I'm not either. But I think we should wait."

"I give it another day. They don't come back then, we leave a note. Hey, maybe we even go looking for them. For all we know, they did run into trouble. But I don't plan to stay in this shack forever, hoping they'll come get us." He advanced, stood ever so close to Boone. "What do you say?"

He hadn't reached out for a handshake. It was more of a verbal go ahead he was looking for. But that didn't stop Boone, didn't stop that hand from taking his hand firmly and shaking it. It didn't keep Boone from looking right up at him over the dark lenses and into Arcade's eyes.

Even as the evening cooled the air, he felt a bit of heat. Arcade finished the handshake and stepped back. "Good. Glad we've agreed on something." He didn't take the step back, he waited.

Boone turned and nodded towards the hole in the wall. "You probably wouldn't see them coming from there."

"No, probably not." But it was better than just being out and about. "I'm not exactly a long range type of guy though, you know. It comes with the 'do no harm' to my patients thing. Not a whole lot of doctors try to heal people through a scope, or at a distance. Although, I'm amused to imagine what that might be like. Long-range healing."

Boone smirked.

Arcade regretted folding his arms over his chest immediately, but he maintained the position and kept a facade up to cover the pain. "Why, do you have a better spot for me?"

That look maintained, so smug, on Boone's face. He shrugged and glanced sideways over at Arcade. "I could watch."

"And what might I do? Twiddle my thumbs?"

Boone strode right on over to the chair and sat in it at an angle. His back kept partially to Arcade, and he peered out through the spot in the wall. "You already did everything else you could do to prepare."

"You know, this isn't quite a laissez-faire attitude, but it's close. I find that surprising, considering who you are."

The metal of the rusty chair scraped against the ancient wooden slats. Boone angled his head back and regarded Arcade with a stern expression that tugged his brows in and rose one just a bit. "And who am I?"

His mother told him when he was very young, that sometimes women liked to ask questions. Trick questions. That she, herself, never did this, but certainly other less scrupulous women would. To be sure, he hadn't really encountered it among women that he much cared about, so it had never really been something he paid mind to.

This felt very much like a trick. There was a correct answer here, and Arcade wasn't sure if he was smart enough to crack it.

Still, he stepped forward, towards the potential danger. "Well," he took another stride and managed to stand tall just beside Boone, "certainly you're a soldier. I doubt that will go anywhere, for however long you live." One hand reached up and it stroked thoughtfully at his chin. He held that arm's elbow in the palm of his other hand and watched their expression.

The look didn't darken, but nor did those features soften. Boone kept his gaze locked up towards Arcade's.

"But you're obviously more than just that. Even if you don't like to admit it."

There was a snort. Low, and irritated. Boone looked away, back towards that hole in the wall that let evening rays in.

Arcade smirked then and kept his pose. He tapped one boot against the wood, a rhythmic bounce as he considered the question Boone no doubt didn't want him to continue on. "Softness maybe isn't the right word, but certainly concern. You were concerned about me the other day. And I don't think it was just out of guilt."

"Why would I feel guilty?"

"Surely you don't actually want me to outline that?"

Boone cracked his knuckles and leaned in towards the hole with narrowed eyes. "I don't feel guilty."

"Fine, and why should you? I only said we should hunt down lower, not head up towards the Pass. Certainly, I wasn't the one who shot at it first."

"It would have noticed us."

He noticed which statement Boone latched to, and moved on. Stepped around them, so he was just beside the hole. Then, back pressed to the wall, he casually lowered to a crouch and watched that dark expression once more, head on this time. "Sure. But there are smarter ways to hunt. Had it just been you, I think you'd have welcomed death."

Boone turned his head, just enough, at that comment. He made as though it were nothing, scratched at his cheek while he turned.

Arcade knew. He put his arms back into that thoughtful pose, hand on chin, his other hand on elbow. He pulled his lips together, as though he didn't know exactly what he wanted to say. When it seemed Boone was sufficiently uncomfortable with how those muscles tensed but they specifically did not move further, he continued. "My getting in the way and being the only one injured for it, I think you felt guilty."

"I told you both at the start. People around me have bad things coming to them."

Arcade lifted, stood tall once more. He took one stride forward until he was just immediately before Boone, then rocked on his heels a bit. "Is that because of fate? Or because you make abhorrent decisions?"

Boone stood up so quick and abrupt, the chair clattered back and toppled over onto the ground a few feet behind them. "I've made my choices in the past. Now it's catching up with me. You should go if you're really as smart as you think you are. Leave."

Arcade licked at his lower lip. "As tempting as leaving obviously is to me, I'd rather stay. I don't think I'm nearly as smart as you think I am."

"Then maybe it's your funeral."

"Maybe. It's not as though you'd actively contribute to that though, right? It's just fate. It's just bad things catching up to bad people."

"Exactly."

"So, you see yourself as bad?" He tilted his head.

Boone swallowed, then turned towards the doorway. Shoulders set back, and he took solid steps towards it.

"That's funny. Nothing you've really said has indicated you might be. So what could possibly lead to this sudden increase in hostility?"

"That's none of your business." Boone's hand clutched to the doorway, curled and almost clawlike. He twisted his head enough to regard Arcade, scowl firmly set into place. "I don't owe you anything."

"No, you don't. Like I said, I don't think you were concerned just out of guilt. That's the whole point. But you're so wound up, you're reacting to everything else."

A snort.

This one seemed almost like an exhalation of hostility. It seemed as though it was an exit for all the awful feelings, and Boone was just exhausted after it. His shoulders slumped, ever so slightly, and he turned his head back towards the other room. "Why else would I be concerned?"

Arcade paused his own motions for a moment, and let that question wash over him. Why would Boone be concerned, if not our of guilt? Was it some oddly placed form of camaraderie? Was it just Boone really did enjoy taking orders, and Arcade didn't mind levying Boone for his own purposes?

Boone stepped through the doorway. "I'm going to keep watch outside."

"I should--"

"Stay here. I'll give a signal if I spot anything."

"What's the signal?"

"A gunshot, if they're too close."

"Subtle." Arcade followed after in quick steps, unwilling to let them leave so soon.

Boone strode past the metal tables that they'd covered in assorted medical goods and other necessary prepared items. He pushed past a chair before the reloading station and pressed his palm against the front door. "If they're far enough away, I'll come back. We can defend together."

"I like that plan better, oddly enough."

Boone opened the creaky metal door and slipped out into the steadily darkening evening air.

Arcade returned to his hole and fixed the chair upright against the wall. He looked out for any signs that trouble might be on the way, though, Boone was right. Not much would show itself from this vantage. Still, he wouldn't be idle in the face of a potential threat.

Darkness descended so steadily, he barely noticed that he sat in complete black soon enough, with nothing but the sliver of moon left to illuminate anything.

The peacefulness of such gentle moonlight contrasted with the tenseness of their conversation and of the potentially approaching Legion.

Arcade sighed.

Something shifted in the darkness, moved almost inky in the shadows, disrupted the barest of light just ahead of his hole. He lifted his plasma defender and craned forward a bit, to see if there was a better vantage from this spot, or if he might need to sneak over across the creaking floorboards and to the front door.

He held a breath in and turned towards the doorway. His injuries ached, not from pain, but from how tense he held his body, how tight he pulled at the stitches.

Metal moved, scraped against the flooring. It groaned in and sighed with a click against the other metal that maintained the shack in a mostly upright position.

Whoever it was, they didn't disturb the bottles Boone and Arcade had scavenged from about the shack. The intruder either knew of their position or were excessively careful regardless.

Arcade eased his finger on the trigger but waited. Even in almost utter darkness, he could tell where that doorway they'd gone through a number of times was, as one might learn the path in the darkness of one's own bedroom.

"Arcade?" It curled out as a whisper, hoarse and low.

He stepped carefully towards that voice. "Boone. Did you--"

"They're headed this way."

"How many?"

"About a dozen."

"Baker's dozen, or?"

"What?"

He didn't stifle the discomforted laugh, though he did wave his own words away. Not that either could see the motion. Arms fell limp to his sides and he stepped closer towards the judging silence. "Do you know they're headed towards us specifically?"

"No. But my gut says yes."

So, yes, they were. Arcade let out a soft sigh, and adjusted his glasses, though the action remained useless in the darkness. "So, I wouldn't mind if they were back right about now."

"I thought you preferred two for company."

"Yes, you, and them. I'd really love a small army to defend this shack right about now."

A hand clapped gently to Arcade's back, and Boone leaned in. Breath reached Arcade's cheeks. "I have a plan."

"Somehow, that barely eases my concerns. But alright. What's the plan?"

He couldn't see Boone. There was nothing to light this area of the shack. But he could swear there was a smile there, on those lips that so often pulled into a tense expression. That didn't ease his concerns either.

\---~~~---

It was a bad plan. A very bad plan.

On the surface, sure, it was surprisingly well put together considering that he hadn't set one up like this before. He'd even gotten Boone to dial back the suicidal-level to maybe a strong 6, so they might not even die.

Still, even with most of the day to rummage through the boxes and attempt to put things together, to force things into cogs and make it all go into motion, he wasn't confident.

That maybe had something to do with how Boone got to be up above on the mountain with his rifle at the ready, and Arcade was just left with a rusty survival knife he'd found in the box outside, and his trusty defender.

A wry smile twisted at his lips, and he fingered the smooth, taped up, handle of the knife in his one hand. He'd picked this spot. He'd insisted. Someone needed to be on the level with the Legion, to see them go in. Someone had to push those dominoes down and give Boone a real easy shot at picking off the Legionaries.

He glanced to the tiny sliver of light that shimmered through the hole in the shack. That smile grew, and he crouched a bit lower behind the rock near the cliff side.

He knew they were coming. He'd seen them working their way up the slope, a more or less direct path to their location. Sure, he'd told Boone it was possible they were headed somewhere else. Boone had said as much himself. But they both knew, didn't they?

All day he'd waited. Afternoon sun roasted them, inside or outside, it didn't matter. Evening weighed in on him as it brought shadows. Nighttime chilled him for the air, and for the approaching encounter. Busywork had at least been there for him before though. Rummage through the boxes for useful things. Search to see what sorts of weapons they had against the Legion. Gather the medical supplies up, and have them on Arcade and a bit on Boone, so in the event they needed to be patched up, it was all fine.

But now, there was nothing left to him but the wait. Legion was quiet, and he couldn't afford to peek around and see how close they were. All he could do was wait behind his rock and see if they would move around and maybe into the shack.

That sort of waiting was something his brain didn't handle well. It left shovels for far too many buried thoughts, to dig their way up out of graves he'd hastily pushed them into. It aimed searchlights right over them, but no way to defend himself against them.

So he focused on something a bit more present, a bit more confusing but much more enjoyable, and ignored all the shambling thoughts that sought to pull him down.

Boone was attractive. For all that stern soldier stuff didn't normally get to Arcade, it worked well on Boone. Really well.

Arcade focused on the slight bumps beneath the taped knife hilt, he worked his fingers slowly over those spots. He didn't look up towards Boone. He breathed in deeply and refused to think about that line of thought. He wouldn't consider those abs, slick with sweat and clinging to a white shirt. Arcade would not remember how Boone had flexed his arms so subtly as he'd climbed into the bunk above. Arcade would most certainly not let himself imagine Boone's body, stripped of clothes, writhing beneath him.

He could focus on that personality though.

First, he'd been annoyed with the guy. He'd been a bit too brusque, a bit too terse. Arcade didn't mind short and sweet, but that wasn't Boone's style.

Still, it had grown on Arcade.

Maybe that was their vengeance driven friend's plan? Leave when they weren't getting along, come back to either friends or corpses.

He almost laughed, but he caught it before it could bubble up his dry throat. Wouldn't it be amusing though, if their friend found them, corpses who'd become friends?

It wasn't that funny, but he couldn't keep that look off his face, that tangled amusement. It wasn't like anyone had to see him losing faith in the plan, in himself.

Except for Boone. He glanced up, something he was sure Boone wouldn't be able to see, even through that scope. Surely not. Though, maybe he could. Arcade gave a short little wave and even a nod. He didn't want the sniper thinking something was up.

Luckily, he'd caught himself in time to ensure nothing was up physically either.

Boot steps. They were quiet, but with nothing but the sound of the breeze and a coyote in the distance, he could hear them. He couldn't see them yet, but he could only imagine it was the Legion. Did that number really hover at only near a dozen? Did it topple over, into more?

It sounded like it, but he wasn't exactly trained in using his ears to detect how many enemy soldiers were approaching. That was something Boone would know how to do. Not that Boone needed to. He probably had a clear visual on at least a few of them.

Legion wasn't stupid though. They didn't stick together, close, for a sniper to pick them off. No, they seemed to step away from one another, climbing steadily upwards towards the shack, as though they planned to surround it and take it en masse.

It made sense. Arcade had even hoped for that. If they held to that, he could keep his plan going, and Boone would do his part, and everything would be fine. It would all be fine.

A rock shifted nearby. He felt a tight pain in his fingers from how hard he gripped the handle. Without moving his feet, he pivoted a bit at the waist and looked behind his position.

A shadow shifted, and metal glinted in the dim light of the moon. A boot stepped into view, but its owner didn't fully appear from beyond the edge of the rock Arcade used as cover.

Breathe, or not breathe, was generally not a question one needed to ask oneself. Generally, one wasn't just beside an unknown member of the Legion who was ever so close to discovering your, admittedly poor, hiding spot.

Oneself was himself. He struggled to pull himself together. It was fine. So, he balked when their courier friend asked him to fight with their fists or some weak melee weapon. So what. He could handle melee range. Not that he would, because the soldier hadn't found him and he was entirely safe. He wouldn't give up his position out of fear.

"Damn it. I knew this was too easy." The voice was gravel in Arcade's ears, low and scraping. "Sniper. If I can get up the ridge..."

It was only a whisper, only a roll of sound out of that mouth Arcade couldn't see. But it was loud enough it banged like a hammer on a metal barrel in his head.

Boone.

But the Legion recruits (as he hoped they were) still seemed to make their way towards the shack. He could hear their less silenced footsteps.

He could save this.

Something that sounded suspiciously like his own self internally chastised him.

It was a terrible plan. It was something a suicidal fool would think up.

That same something, or someone as he loosely realized, told him in no uncertain Latin terms to knock it off. To put that knife away, or so help him.

Would this be what your father wanted from you? Someone who breaks perfectly good plans, ruins things, and makes it all the more likely everyone dies?

Arcade Gannon, man of action. It almost brought a smile to his face, how absolutely off this entire scene was. As though this were an actor in a holotape, he watched Arcade grip the knife, and step in time with the enemy's steps. As though the two were in sync. One, two, three, four steps. Arcade lifted the knife and brought it across the Legionary's throat.

They nearly crumpled, folded up under their own now dead weight, but Arcade Gannon, his father's son, crouched and caught that form. Pulled it behind the rock.

It all shifted. Arcade felt a thin snap internally, and like old wooden puzzles might fit together, things made sense once more. He ignored the blood that rolled down the metal and loosened at the duct tape edges. He only focused on the Legionaries who trampled up the hill.

These weren't just recruits. These were assassins. This wasn't just the Legion attempting to soil discord and death wherever they happened upon. It was a concerted effort on the Legion's part to take them out. Whether that 'them' included their friend as well, he wasn't positive, but he could imagine it was. Too bad for the Legion that the courier wasn't there.

Arcade forced himself to breathe. This was fine.

Everything was fine.

Legion men rounded the shack, and one began to push lightly, ever so carefully, at the door. It moved inward, but they managed to keep it from creaking too much.

Arcade felt a prickle of pride that he'd oiled it. Not entirely, so there was no noise, but just enough that when they pushed it inward they would feel pleased with themselves for not making a ruckus.

It seemed the soldier was even smart enough to notice the bottles Arcade had carefully arranged before the door, and that same soldier reached in and handed them off to waiting soldiers.

Every single bottle they removed, every single inch they moved forward into the shack, confident in their abilities, Arcade got closer to pulling the cap back and depressing the trigger on the detonator. He felt sweat trickle along his forehead, and sting at his eyes. With a lightly shaky hand, he pulled the device from his pocket and waited. Only a few more soldiers needed to go inside, and they could take out over half the forces that had rallied here.

He flipped the cap back with one twitch of his finger and waited. One motioned with hands for another Legion man to enter.

Arcade did not hold his breath now. He carefully rationed them, in, and out. This was a time for calmness. This was not a time to--

The noise was just behind him. He turned, pivoted one one foot to face it.

An assassin. Machete raised, he carried it down in an arc and towards Arcade's skull.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all fine. Trust Arcade, he's a doctor.


	3. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcade cooks for once!

He had complained about how loud Boone's rifle was when the three of them had gone from New Vegas to this hellish shack and Boone had shot a few geckos right next to Arcade. It pierced through the eardrums and made even thinking hard for a bit.

Arcade blinked and barely recognized the shot that tore through the Legion soldier's face. He only recognized the machete that still crashed down, a bit off target. It didn't split his skull, it just tore into his shoulder.

He twisted away. Fell back against the rock, and cradled himself towards it.

Dully, he was aware he likely had not gotten the worst of it. Sharp, he felt that pain blossom from nothing more than an initial show of red against the faded pink and white of his lab coat, to something rather all encompassing.

The barest niggle tugged at his thoughts of pain and reminded him of the plan. He'd gone and ruined it, hadn't he? Arcade set the knife down, just there beside the two bodies. He switched the detonator from bad arm to good and moved his index finger over the trigger. It felt comfortable, amid all the worst things come together.

Footsteps seemed to come his way. Voices called out. Maybe they'd heard.

That almost brought a smile, through the pain and the darkness of the situation. Of course they'd heard. There was a bullet, and a body they could almost definitely see.

He leaned over, looked out briefly from behind the rock, his safety, towards the shack. Seven, or so. Well, at least maybe the others were in the building. Better late than never.

The trigger depressed so easily. Just a tiny red little line, unlike the massive red shoulder gash and the stain emanating from it.

He'd not heard C-4 for many years. Not being a man of action, he'd rarely had cause to. In fact, he'd specifically gone out of his way to not find himself in situations like this.

At least the sound of it, the roar of explosives, distracted him from the pain in his arm.

From what he could see from his vantage on the rocky ground, it distracted the others too. They turned, shouted, and seemed at the ready to take the enemy out.

A shot punctuated Arcade's thoughts and tore through the head of one of the men.

Arcade couldn't keep the smile at bay for that one. Looked like those fancy feathers wouldn't protect that man this time. What was that one meant to be, a praetorian or a decanus? Maybe a centurion? Arcade wasn't exactly up on who was who in the Legion, and he didn't exactly pay much mind to their garish clothing choices, but that one seemed important.

It seemed Boone agreed. Though, the next one down seemed more or less average. That one had only worn a simple face mask and a striped helmet. The shot seemed to slide right on through that strip of crimson that Legion man wore so proudly.

He couldn't concentrate though. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't. So he pulled back behind the rock, reached over for the Stimpak and the bandages. He'd work on making it fully heal later, or have Boone help him, but for the moment he needed to get the injury taken care of minimally.

Later.

For the first time of the night, it wasn't an insincere or sarcastic smile. He felt almost a sense of peace wash over him, discordant with the gunfire behind him. They would have a later. Later, he would pull himself fully together, literally, but here he had to make do with what he had and then get back into the fight.

After, they'd both settle around the fire, next to the destroyed shack, and eat something. So long as it wasn't gecko steak, he would scarf it down.

Hell, he'd take radroach meat at this point. It was a fantastic source of iron and protein if one could stomach the strong aftertaste that lingered for hours. He could if it meant he didn't have to handle the same steak, prepared the same way, day after day. Even the Followers offered a bit of variation in their meals.

His arm didn't feel particularly better, but he rationed that it would soon enough. That he needed to pull his weight in this, even if it meant literally. Arcade crawled back towards the edge of the cover and tugged out his plasma defender. He adjusted his glasses and peered out from about the rock.

Bodies lay scattered, flames licked around the nearly obliterated shack, and shrapnel coated the desert just before them. Nothing seemed to move, other than the flickers of fire and the light push of the night breeze through wet crimson material left on bodies.

He stood, and did his best to ignore the cracks in his knees. Still slightly crouched, he peered over the rock from a different angle, to see if any of them had managed a retreat. To ensure none of them got away.

Not that any Legion soldier would leave. They'd sooner slit their own throats than allow any weakness to show through an obvious defeat, wouldn't they?

He stepped careful, watched every motion with suspicious eyes.

One, two, three, four. Four bodies, plus two behind the rock made six. If it truly was a dozen to begin with, he only prayed that he could find the last six in the shack.

Maybe blowing it up had been overkill. Maybe he'd been a fool to veto Boone's plan for them both to wait up on the ridge and pick the Legion men off one by one.

But Legion knew that NCR liked to snipe. Knew their well-connected courier friend was a long range sort of person too. So drawing the Legion men into a trap, it made the most sense, right?

A footstep. It wasn't his. He shifted backward, and raised his plasma defender up, with his good hand holding the trigger, and the bad arm's hand holding that hand steady. No, it wasn't a bad arm. Julie would chide him if he called a patient's injured arm that. No, it was an 'affected' arm.

Affected or not, he held his grip tighter and aimed for where their head might pop back up.

Careful, nearly silent, steps brought him around towards that cover. He waited in the darkness beneath a ledge.

Another step. Again, not his.

Arcade could only hold his breath so many times before he probably gave himself permanent lung damage. He wasn't sure on the factual nature of that assertion-- he was no pulmonologist-- but he reasoned it out that way regardless. It helped, to remind himself to breathe in a simple internal chiding voice.

His father wouldn't hide from adversity, he wouldn't crouch behind rocks when there were still enemies about ready to attack. He'd find a good spot, and he'd find a way to make it work for him. He'd be quite unlike how Arcade felt.

Of course, even the harshest ones, like Doctor Henry, never actually said that. They never mentioned Arcade couldn't be all that he thought of his father.

Once again, he was his own worst enemy, which was amazing, considering there were potentially several Legion soldiers out there looking to kill him directly. Or maybe just one. Maybe there was no one but him and Boone, and this was all imagined.

He moved with quick footsteps that countered how slow and steady he'd gone before. He thrust his body behind the high angled rock and aimed the barrel of his gun towards their head.

Boone had said a good sniper needed one bullet per person.

He pulled the trigger, over, over, over, again. He drained the energy cell, pocketed it, then worked another into its place and fired a few more times. Some shots still left, he paused and observed the man. The body.

He ducked down behind the stone cover, once more hiding behind something. Careful, he crouched beside that body and checked to ensure they weren't simply burned and unconscious. Confirmed as a kill, he inhaled a breath that wasn't quite relief.

Killing was never easy, even if the people were bad. Still, he'd much prefer to look down on an enemy, than down onto his own body as a spirit. Not that he believed in such things.

Arcade adjusted glasses that had slipped down the sweat of his nose. He pinched the bridge and focused on the moment. For all he knew, there were more still alive. Additionally, he didn't know how Boone had fared.

Boone.

He moved away from the rock and caught cover behind the rickety remains of the shack. A quick examination showed the torn parts of at least two men, going by the limbs displayed by the explosion all about the metal and wooden remnants. He breathed a sigh out, then sprinted and dodged behind his original spot not more than a hundred feet away.

After a moment to regain his breath and as much composure as he could muster, he quickly made his way along the ridge, keeping to the shadows. Up to the mountains, he went.

Legion soldiers could wait a bit longer to die, if there were any left. He fully intended to ensure Boone was alright. After all, Boone couldn't administer his own Stimpaks if he was injured, even though they were present, right? That's what Arcade was for.

He felt his heartbeats rush, and a bit of dizziness washed over him when there was motion ahead of him, in the darkness. Forcefully steadied hands rose, and he aimed his defender.

"Easy. Unless you want to roast me." Boone stepped into the barest section of light and offered something akin to a smile. "Nice work on the one behind the rock."

He barely felt the words leave his lips, but he heard them distantly. "Which one? There were several." He wanted to lunge forward and look his companion over more thoroughly.

"I don't call two 'several', but alright. Both, I guess." Boone was just ahead of his now, seemingly unharmed. He stood tall, and held his rifle in both hands, not quite at the ready, but ready to be. "You cleared the shack out pretty well, too."

He'd almost considered it an insult, a snide remark about Arcade's incompetence in doing a simple plan he, himself, had set up. But that nod seemed sincere, and the tone held steady. Arcade blinked and nodded back. "Thanks." The word felt as numb as he felt stupid to say something to simple in the face of a sincere compliment from Boone.

Words desperately craved to come. There were any number of things he wanted to say. More than a few of them involved histrionic expressions, hyperbole, and latin. He kept it all to himself.

Arcade turned back towards the path and nodded down towards the bottom, an indication of where he'd come from that no one needed. He hadn't quite gotten the whole nod and grunt and snort thing down as far as communication went.

Boone still seemed to understand. His footsteps followed, soft crunches of thick soled boots over rocks and dust.

"I think there might be a few left. I did a preliminary count." Arcade finally found some words, but they were only about the situation. The words felt as cold and detached to their situation as the breeze that tugged at his coat, but it was nice. It calmed. Against the heat of the situation, and the pain in his body, he felt a stillness that steadied.

"Did you count the two down at the bottom of the slope?"

He did a mental inventory of the bodies, mapped it out inside his mind for a moment. Behind the various rocks, three now. Potentially two inside the shack, although it was possible he'd mussed that count up. Four bodies before the shack, from right in front of the door, to an almost equilateral triangle, made up of bodies spread out over about a dozen feet between them all.

Arcade shook his head and held his defender at the ready more firmly. "No, I guess I didn't. Two plus my count of nine still isn't a dozen."

"Guess we're hunting something else tonight."

His belly gurgled and he glared back over his good shoulder at Boone. "I'd much prefer hunting something that can sustain me, but if you insist."

"Would you prefer they gut us in our sleep? They could return to Caesar and maybe get promoted."

"I'm not proposing we ignore someone who may or may not be there, since a dozen was never an exact number anyway. It's just, I don't particularly want to remember how hungry I am, and you've just called my attention to it. So I suppose that's that."

Boone stepped so close to Arcade, just right beside him. Hot breath teased at the coil of Arcade's left ear. "Well, I would have gotten them when they came out from cover, but I saw you take off towards me. I figured it was important."

Two whole sentences, and long ones at that. Any other time, he might tease that Boone had practically delivered a speech. He may even give a round of mock applause. Here, he felt like he was melting and that rather distracted him. "It. It was."

"What was important?"

"You." Oh dear. "I thought perhaps you were injured, and well, I figured they were all dead. What harm could there be in coming up?"

"You said you only counted nine."

He didn't look over, he refused to note that expression. If the tone was any indication it was, well, teasing of all things. This was not the time to prod, this was a time of action!

Arcade stepped a bit faster. "And besides, snipers need spotters, don't they? It occurred to me, if there were more, that you might be more effective with my assistance."

"So you came to check me out."

Arcade felt his toes twitch and curl in his boots. They were clearly too small for him, he'd have to see about getting a better pair when they reached New Vegas, or perhaps even in Primm, though they'd have to track backward a little bit for that. "I am a doctor. That's my job."

"Well, maybe when I finish my job you can. But I'm fine for now, nothing more than a few scrapes. So far."

"The morning is still young." He wasn't sure if it was a statement of fact, or a dire prediction. One soldier left, perhaps, and anything could happen.

Would his father have waited down below near the shack until the job was done, or would he have gone up to ensure his companion was alright after a time of silence?

Arcade craned his neck just a bit and watched Boone.

It didn't really matter if his father would have stayed below or come up. It was what Arcade did, and he'd stand by the choice, like he walked beside Boone.

\---~~~---

Movement made Boone and Arcade both still. Footsteps sounded in the night.

They stopped.

Arcade scanned the darkness, searched for any sign that whoever had moved was nearby.

Boone crouched down, lifted his rifle, inhaled, then released and pulled the trigger.

The only sign he'd hit was a movement of shadows in the distance. Something collapsed.

It wasn't difficult to ascertain what that something was. Arcade holstered his defender, and pat Boone on the shoulder. "So, we can eat now, right?"

Boone arched a brow. "Is that all you think about?"

"Can you blame me? I got a machete to the shoulder."

"They spotted the body you dropped. The boot stuck out a bit."

"Hindsight's better than my sight now, even with glasses. Besides, I had to take them out. They spotted you."

"What?"

"It's true." He countered that incredulous, scrunched up look, with a defensive response, and one hand raised to his chest, more or less in front of where his heart was chambered. "I almost didn't do anything, I don't think he saw me. But he said 'I better go murder that sniper up there'--I'm paraphrasing of course-- and that was it. If they knew where you were for sure, it wouldn't be long before you got trouble up your way."

"And they'd have come towards you in droves too."

"Well, sure, minimize my attempt to keep you safe. It's fine, I get it. Big tough soldier man needs to know he was the most important cog in this killing machine." He nudged them with his good shoulder. His chest and opposite shoulder didn't appreciate that movement (or most of his other movements) but still he didn't wince. He was fine.

He just needed some food, a bit of whiskey, and some stitches. Maybe not in that order.

\---~~~---

"You know, I think you've seen me half dressed more often than a few of my exes."

That quip got a snort, but it sounded more amused than irritated. Not that Arcade knew that for certain, seeing as how Boone did the stitches from behind him.

"How come that phobia of yours doesn't apply to stitching me up?" He regretted it a moment too late. Boone wasn't done, and he all but begged for him to freeze up? What was he thinking?

To his surprise though, Boone kept right on with that simple stitching he did, he barely even faltered. It would look amateurish, and likely it would scar a bit oddly, but Arcade could appreciate the effort.

Finally, Boone finished, and set the needle and what remained of the thread down. He cleared his throat, then replied. "It does."

\---~~~---

Arcade flipped the slice of coyote steak over. He didn't particularly like killing coyotes himself (they rarely attacked unless provoked, in his personal experience) but he couldn't be upset when he found a few meaty slabs in some of the Legion bags. Nor was he upset when he found a worn box of Dandy Boy Apples.

"Have you ever actually seen an apple tree?"

"Hmm?" Boone glanced up from where he crouched beside a Legion body, doing only Boone knew what.

"An apple tree. I know people farm nearby, but I don't think I've seen an apple tree before. I don't know they grow nearby at all."

Boone's brows tugged together, in thought, presumably. Finally, he nodded. "I think I saw an orchard once, on my way out here. It was in the distance, though. I think someone mentioned it was an Old World orchard."

It still wasn't the time to tease Boone about talking. A week before, even two days before, he would. But here, he was pleased. Boone was talking. None of that grunting nonsense. Actual real words were escaping those lips, as though Boone didn't actually mind being around Arcade!

He smiled and flipped the other piece of meat in the cast iron pan they'd saved from the wreckage. It was a bit bent, having spent a time as dangerous shrapnel, but it worked otherwise. "Where did you see the orchard, do you remember?"

Boone returned to whatever work he made himself busy with while Arcade cooked. "No. I was younger then. A lot younger."

"Was it your first time out here?"

"First and only. I've... I've never gone back."

Arcade opened the box of desiccated apples. Unlike some of the questionable food products one could find out in the wastes, at least these looked more or less like they had originally. The proof was right there in the ingredients: dried apples, sugar, cinnamon. And sure enough, that was exactly what you got, even centuries later.

He kept his mouth shut until the food was done.

Whiskey out, he downed a sip or three, then set the quarter full bottle between the two of them. "I feel like we should call this breakfast." He handed a plate over to Boone, filled with steaming lightly salted steaks, and shriveled slices of apples. Professionally plated, it wasn't, but Arcade wasn't exactly trying to get in as Head Chef for the White Glove Society. Especially with those rumors about just what might go into the food at the Ultra-Luxe.

"Do you usually have whiskey for breakfast?" Boone took a swig, before he settled it back in its spot and cut through the steak.

"Lately, yes. Oddly, it's right after meeting you that started. I'm sure it's just a coincidence. I've also been more grievously injured than lately, and I think that's the real cause."

"Also a coincidence," Boone smirked around a bite of the well-done meat.

"I'm sure." Arcade chuckled and inhaled a bit of his meal, he was so hungry. It wasn't juicy. It wasn't even that tasty, though maybe that's because he never really enjoyed that fatty gamey taste. But it wasn't gecko, and that was enough.

His mother had always told him he was too picky. That wasn't the case. He ate the food he didn't want, even if he didn't like it. Daisy just said he was born in the wrong time period.

Wasn't everyone? This was a wrong time. It had been for centuries. No one would choose this time to live.

Arcade paused after a swig of alcohol.

Boone ate slowly.

Arcade passed the whiskey on over. "Something wrong?"

Boone accepted the whiskey, then replaced it on the ground. He didn't look over, he just shrugged. "Something feels off."

"Any idea what?"

"No."

Helpful, as always. But he nodded, as though it really had been. As though he somehow understood what Boone was feeling. Mostly, he felt pained, and he felt a bit tipsy, and he felt tired.

Arcade returned to his food. The apples made it more enjoyable. They were little blunt pops of sugar mingled with cinnamon behind the aftertaste of salty and fatty game.

The more he ate (and drank) the more he didn't necessarily mind the food. It wasn't as good as Boone's, but Boone didn't want to make food immediately, he'd wanted to go through the Legion soldiers looking for only Boone knew what.

There wasn't more food, but he wasn't hungry anymore. Eyes had bags, no doubt. Lids drooped and asked to close fully.

Boone tilted his head, just ever so slightly, towards Arcade. He played it off as a nod, and he looked in the direction of a star. One hand slowly raised and pointed up. "There was a hill near where I grew up. If you climbed it, you could see that same star."

Dates had explained things about the stars before. Interesting facts about constellations, and how far away things that looked like you could just reach out and touch them were. They'd use all the fancy names and know the terms, almost like this wasn't a post-apocalyptic hellscape where people were just trying to survive half the time, to say nothing about trying to thrive.

But that wasn't something Boone could probably do. This, just sharing he recognized one star and could see it whether he was in the NCR or out here in the desert, it was nice.

It was intimate.

He leaned a bit closer, partly from the effects of the alcohol on his system, partly because he wanted to be near Boone. Which, admittedly, he only admitted he wanted when under the effects of alcohol or stress. He'd blame it on the alcohol tomorrow. Maybe he'd blame it a bit on Boone, too.

Boone didn't jerk away. He didn't lean into it, but he certainly didn't lean away. No, instead he just held upright in that same quiet manner he had while he'd eaten.

After a time of pleasant silent, Arcade scooted just a bit closer. Casually, he rubbed his good shoulder up against Boone's. The gap between their bodies squished inward, until there wasn't much of a distance at all.

"We should probably stop drinking." Boone's voice sounded a bit slower, a bit more careful than usual. He seemed to chew on his thoughts like he had his food.

Arcade nodded. He didn't move away, he just held his spot. The whiskey sat in between his legs, but he could remove that from the picture. It took a bit of finagling, as he didn't want to use his bad arm to lift the heavy glass jug, but he reached over himself and set the last few gulps of whiskey at the bottom of the glass to the side. "There. No more drinking."

Boone let out a quiet sigh. "Shame the shack blew up."

"Shame the beds blew up." He'd said beds. Praise the little bit of his functioning mind, he'd said beds. He hadn't accidentally implied exactly what he was thinking.

Boone nodded. "The sky cleared nicely though."

"Mmhmm. Daylight's coming soon." And he lightly lifted his right arm up and pointed his index finger at the smattering of color that blotched along the east, like patches in a watercolor painting he'd seen once in the remains of a museum.

"Hell of a night." Boone tipped his head down, just ever so slightly. It nestled against Arcade's right shoulder. "Sleep's good."

"Yeah." But he had slept. Boone was the one running on nothing here. "We could just lay down here."

"Yeah." Boone sighed. Then he pulled away, rose up, and stepped towards the salvaged bucket, half filled with sand and rocks. Up and over, he emptied the metal container and set it aside as the fire burned down into itself.

The moment died down like the fire. Arcade stretched one arm with only a bit of complaint from his body, then moved back towards the burned remains of the shack. "You know, just even for shade purposes, we should probably still sleep in there. Plus, a half charred wooden floor still seems more comfortable than rocks and dirt and geckos coming up to nibble on my toes."

"It'd go for your throat first. That's a clean kill. Makes eating you easier."

He shot Boone a dour look over his right shoulder, then rolled his eyes. When his face was safely facing away from the other, he grinned just a bit. "Well, I'm sure it would still eat my toes."

"I doubt that's your tastiest part."

It was just the heat of the day that flushed over his face. Sure, it wasn't fully upon them, but that didn't mean a thing. He burned easily in the sun, and clearly today was no exception. He stood a bit taller and walked a bit faster to the skeleton of the building.

Boone cleared away a large section of corrugated metal and kicked away a bit of rubble from beneath it. "This spot looks fine. There's still a bit of wall and roof above it."

Coverage. Smart.

It was a shame that the C-4 had been in the bedroom, and had destroyed every part of that section. The beds were nothing more than smoldering ash after burning out over the hours preceding.

Arcade rolled his shoulders back in a light stretch (and regretted it silently, immediately) then stepped to where Boone motioned. "Could work. And hey, at least in the Mojave you don't really need a blanket when you take a siesta. Because boy, would we be out of luck if we wanted one."

Boone settled in, his eyes facing where the sunrise did. "Maybe we should do it in shifts."

"Just go to sleep, Boone. It'll take me a while anyway. I never go easy."

"You do lately."

"Really? And how would you know it?"

"I'm up when you start snoring."

He rolled his eyes and faced the same direction Boone was. "Right. First of all, I don't snore."

That got a snort.

Arcade shoved at him lightly, though with his left arm. It didn't appreciate his gesture of teasing violence. He winced, and rolled onto his right side, facing away from Boone. "Well, fine then. My point's even truer. You need sleep more than me. You go to sleep after me, you wake up way earlier."

"You'll be snoring in a minute."

"Oh, stuff it." He couldn't deny he felt that tug though. Sleep didn't come easily, not normally. So many thoughts wanted to filter through, but he couldn't hold onto them for long. He didn't want to end up like Bill Ronte, but at this point, he was a bit concerned he would. Something about booze stifled all those little fears for at least a little while.

He blinked.

He dreamed of the endless Legion; horrible lines of soldiers had taken New Vegas, and grown in size and bloodthirst on their march towards the ocean, towards the NCR. He'd tried to stop it, tried to help people, but every single Stimpak turned to poison in their veins and rotted them through.

Arcade lay still. The sun was still early in the sky, nowhere near the afternoon rise. He could hear a bird in the distance, no doubt pleased with its perch on a cactus or some other such place. It called out the day, in short little bursts of song.

Something stirred nearby. In his sleepy state, he wanted to roll over and let the noises just be what they were. It was likely just a bird, like that other one. But he couldn't roll. He couldn't shift, not without hurting that still troubled left shoulder. Instead, he held on his right side and blinked a few times to work the drowsy feelings from his eyes.

Footsteps.

He could feel Boone at his back, pressed right up next to him. It was comforting, like the sounds weren't.

Footsteps, in another short burst. They weren't loud, but Arcade was used to listening to those sounds, after having spent so much time doing just that lately.

He reached down and carefully tugged his defender free from his holster. He could stay on the ground, not make a move, until they were just in sight. If he spooked them, they'd flee. Besides. Maybe it was their friend, come back to see if they were alive. Maybe it was anyone, really. It didn't have to be an enemy.

Through a gap between barely standing metal sheets, he saw a flash of crimson. Faded, torn, worn, the material signaled the years of use and abuse it had been through. Tanned legs, thick with corded muscles, displayed proudly beneath the skirt.

He saw a flesh of ax, metal that glinted in the sunlight that streamed through. It lifted a moment later, as though they were readying themselves.

Arcade fired off a round of shots, one after the other into their left leg, then their right. He wasn't the type to intentionally cripple another, but he also wasn't the type to allow a Legion soldier to murder Boone and himself in their sleep. He made a choice.

They collapsed forward. They showed their face then, suddenly seen in the gap that only legs had shown through before. It crinkled with shock and pain, apparent even behind the goggles strapped to their head.

Another few shots pulled off quicker than Arcade could even consider, and the Legion man slumped forward with a stiff expression of pain.

Arcade blinked.

It wasn't a dream. He shifted and sat upright.

Boone was right beside him, gun now in hands, breathing steady but loud. "That's a wake-up call I could've gone without."

"Sorry." He carefully lifted onto his knees, then stood. Careful, he peered around some of the metal that still remained of the shack and scanned as much as he could between the two of them and the horizon. It didn't appear to have more Legion, but he hadn't seen that one Boone had gotten before, had he?

"Not you. Them." Boone toed at the body, then stepped out slightly towards the open. He peeked around some metal too and squinted against the oncoming sun. "I don't see anyone."

"If that was it, then it was a baker's dozen."

"What?"

Arcade chuckled and shook his head. "Nothing. Think we should stay and defend, or leave now? Freeside's only a bit over half a day away if we move fast."

"Are you in any shape to move fast?"

"I'm feeling personally attacked by that question, you know." He grinned over. "I'd be fine with some water and a Stimpak. But, maybe Primm would be a better choice anyway. At least for today."

"Hmmm."

"Then again, with all the comfort this spot brings, why shouldn't we stay just a bit longer nearby?" He definitely didn't covertly rub at his chest in an attempt to soothe some of the pain. He was practically healed.

"We could go back to Freeside slowly. There's no reason to do it all at once." Boone made it sound like it was his idea.

Arcade appreciated how Boone didn't stare at him. Didn't make it entirely apparent that Arcade's pain was obvious. "Slow works. Maybe we could even make a stop or several on the way. You know, take in the scenery."

"We could go to Novac first."

"Oh boy. I just love that place. Nothing says family fun like hundreds of unsalable dinosaurs and leftover radiated rocket ship souvenirs. And don't forget the giant dinosaur out front! Who doesn't want to know there's a snipe-- oh." Arcade glanced over to Boone. "You're one of the snipers that are normally up there, aren't you?"

There was that whisper of a smile again, but it left as soon as Arcade spotted it. "I am. Or, I was. Now it's mostly up to Manny."

"Well, I didn't mean anything about it."

"I know." Boone leaned against the metal, pressed his forehead to the corrugation.

"I'm sure it's a lovely town, with lovely people, that we always pass right on by without stopping in." Because who wanted to be revealed by his favorite mother figure who sometimes said all the wrong things in all the sassiest ways? He'd prefer to meet her in their usual spot, not in a place crawling with ex-NCR in positions to take him down.

The smile returned full force. Boone glanced over and shook his head. "No. It's really not. It's a shit hole. But it's where I go when I'm not traveling. It serves its purpose."

"Well, that's good enough I guess. And it's close, so we could probably make it there without too much trouble."

"Plus, Manny's not so useless Legion would get through without a fight. We could rest a bit."

"You're really selling me on this Manny guy."

Boone snorted. "We used to be partners. Emphasis on used to be." He buried hands into pockets. "We might as well go now. If you're able to." Those last words came out almost as an afterthought in tone.

Arcade rolled his eyes and pulled out his pen from his pocket. "Sure, sure. What wouldn't I love more than moving in the afternoon heat, exhausted and injured? But first, let's let our friend know what we've been up to, sans their presence." He clicked the pen with a dramatic flick of his thumb and arched his brows in Boone's direction. "Would you like to assist in writing this letter?"

"You seem better with words."

"Tell that to my last few exes, they'll laugh right in your face."

"They wouldn't for long."

That got a bout of laughter from Arcade, and he settled in front of the wrecked reloading bench and deemed it an appropriate place to pen a letter to their dearest companion.

Arcade read it aloud as he penned it out in slick black ink on the faded paper.

"Hey there,  
So, if you're reading this, you either came back for us and found us gone, or you're not our friend at all and you're probably just wondering why this shack looks so newly destroyed!"

Boone sat down in a barely functional mangled chair beside Arcade and kept that same smirk on his face.

"Well, where to begin? Legion attacked, if the baker's dozen of corpses piled up nearby wasn't enough for you to piece it together from their pieces." He clicked the pen a few times rapidly and chewed on his bottom lip. Then, he turned a bit and leaned against the remnants of the table, once folded paper in one hand raised up towards the sunlight, pen in the other. "What next?"

Boone rose from the metal chair. It groaned from the shifting of his weight. He stepped forward and eyed the card himself. "Can I try?"

"So long as you can keep things professional. We wouldn't want to upset them or anything."

"Right. I'll try to keep my language in check." He reached for the paper and pen.

Over he handed it. A moment later, he stood behind Boone and watched him begin to pen the next few lines. He couldn't quite see the words, so he leaned in over Boone's shoulder and squinted just a bit to take it in. He could only make out the last few with how compact the letters were. It wasn't that his vision was poor, it was the lighting and how small Boone wrote.

"'We are headed where you sleep most often.' Do they really sleep there most often? That surprises me."

"They got a place there after-- after Cliff gave them the key."

"Cliff? Oh, right."

"You know him?" Boone turned his head just enough that he was face to face with Arcade.

Arcade straightened up his posture and took a step back. "Barely. I've heard of him."

"From who?"

"Are you writing, or prattling on?"

Boone turned back to the task at hand. "I can do both."

"Can you? That's surprising." He pivoted on heel and turned back towards where the dead Legion man had fallen. "Don't fill the entire--"

"Done."

He was back leaned over Boone's shoulder before he could even blink. "What'd you-- ohohoho."

"Does that work?" There was slow roll to the words, as though he had to think hard to say them. Attached, there was a particular way Boone looked at Arcade. It was an almost smug look, but it stopped just short of that. No, this was simple satisfaction at a job well done.

"If it weren't for your Spartan handwriting, they might believe these words were my own. I'm almost afraid to see how you'd change if we stay together."

"That sounds like a challenge." Boone twisted his hips and repositioned himself so he was pressed up against the table with his back, and facing Arcade fully.

Arcade nearly pulled away once more, but he held his position. "Do you back down from challenges?"

"No."

He felt a tug he'd ignored previously, but here it pulled hard at his thoughts. Demanded his attention. Look at those lips. Look at those rich irises, how the color shifts even behind those shades when Boone talks. Listen to that voice.

Arcade put his hand on the pen in Boone's own grip. "I've a final touch to add and then we can head out."

Boone slowly released his grip on the pen barrel and pulled his fingers free of Arcade's own. He seemed as though he wouldn't move; for several long beats of time, Boone just stared up at Arcade. Finally, he turned and moved past Arcade to the left. "Don't take long."

Arcade didn't. Well, not by his own measure. He still got a bit of an impatient look from Boone, who was already packed up by the time Arcade returned his attention to the other. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"Are we doing that again?" Boone tilted his head down just enough that he looked at Arcade over the edge of his sunshades.

"I'd win. If we were." But he turned back and pinned the note under a mechanism that no doubt no longer worked for its intended purpose. They'd find it, if they used their brain and looked for something to explain what had gone on. "We really could make it to Primm, you know. I know Novac is closer, but isn't Primm nicer?"

"Probably. But I don't have a bed in Primm. Plus, we haven't slept much, we're injured--"

He lifted a hand up and waved the words away. "Alright, I understand. I hate it when you're reasonable. And don't look so smug. Novac it is. Who wouldn't want to go visit Dinky? Or whatever his name is." One more wave and Arcade returned to his items he'd stored just before their ill-timed nap. He began packing.

"Me. I hate that dinosaur." Boone tapped a foot. "I'd rather not go to Primm though. We'd have to go past Nipton."

"Another fair, sobering, point." He dusted his pants off with a note of finality, then tugged on his bag and headed closer to Boone. "Ready?"

A grunt of acknowledgment was all Arcade got, before Boone started on the trek towards Novac.

Arcade followed along after without complaint for at least a few miles along the rocky trail. The soft slosh of the last bit of whiskey, packed snug in his bag, was a pleasant sound on their otherwise quiet start.

"Keep up." Boone wasn't even out of breath, the bastard.

"You know, you can be really insufferable sometimes." Arcade increased his pace a bit, until he stepped in time to Boone once more. "And do we really need to go so fast?"

"Too much for you?" It wasn't taunting so much as lightly teasing. Boone glanced over his signature sunglasses up at Arcade.

"Last I checked, you weren't the one with multiple chest and shoulder injuries. You've got one little bullet injury." He sped up, just enough that he outpaced Boone. His legs were longer after all.

"Last I checked, chest and shoulders aren't legs. But I'm no doctor."

"Keep talk like that up and I won't be the one to give you Stimpaks if you get injured. It'll just be pilfered healing powder for you."

Boone held that quiet smile for longer than Arcade would have thought. Miles and miles, it just lay there, the barest upturn on those thin lips.

The smile faded once they reached the remains. Twisted sheet metal and old rusted trailers with torn sandbags signaled the innards of the once proud Ranger station. Arcade had been inside, once, with their friend. From the look on Boone's face, he'd been there at least once before too. Maybe even before it looked like this.

"They were good people. They didn't deserve that." Boone's steps finally slowed, finally stopped.

This wasn't where Arcade wanted to take a breather, but he wasn't about to say as much aloud. Even he had enough impulse control to see this was a place to show respect. He reached out and put a hand on Boone's shoulder. When that didn't get a recoil, he squeezed gently and stepped closer. "No, they didn't."

A part of him argued NCR wasn't good either, but he wouldn't say it, at least not there. This wasn't a debate. That second part was an objectively true statement and Arcade agreed. No one deserved Legion punishments. Legion soldiers didn't even deserve it.

Boone shut his eyes. Brows furrowed tight for a breath, then they relaxed and his entire face loosened a bit. "Stella was a ranger here. She almost got stationed North. She got sent here instead."

He rubbed a bit harder, worked his fingers in an attempt to ease some of the tension in Boone's uninjured shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Let's go."

They were a little under halfway to Novac, but it felt longer. Miles dragged, time snagged, and Arcade kept wanting to say something until his mouth filled with imaginary dust and he just swallowed it all down.

Boone broke the silence. "I've seen you before. You never go into Novac."

Arcade wouldn't mind if actual dust whirled around them both, swallowed them up in a storm. "No. I said that though. I just travel through."

"Daisy goes along the road too, around when I see you through my scope."

"I bet all the gossips in Novac love to talk to you, get the latest scoops from your scope, hmm?"

"Who is she?"

"Shouldn't you know that, since you live nearby?" He fingered carefully along the trigger of his defender, more paranoid than he wanted to be. He allowed the paranoia from their friend not returning to cloud his interaction there, it only added to the sudden stress of the question.

"Who is she to you?" That voice ground out like the gravel under Boone's boots.

"She's the closest thing I've had to a mother since my own passed." Wasn't that what his mom had always said to do? Don't tell a lie, just tell the truth. Let the truth be what they want to hear.

Boone nodded. "She's a good woman. A bit... pushy."

"A bit?" He snorted and it choked in his throat, then twisted into harsh bouts of laughter. "A bit? I'll have to tell her you said that."

"Don't you dare."

"Oh, but she'd love it! Of course, she'd tell me I was wrong all those times I told her how very pushy she really is. A bit. Do you know how many times she tried setting me up with others?"

Boone sighed and glanced over. "I know a bit about that myself."

"Do you? Well, she didn't try to set you up with Manny, did she? Or no, maybe she did. That might be why you sounded so absolutely thrilled with his performance earlier."

It was difficult, to catch every flash of emotion on that face. Things were so subtle, unless you looked just right at Boone and caught him just as he began to process words.

Boone managed to not choke. He swallowed, a seemingly arduous task, and shook his head stiffly. "Manny and me, we're not. We never. That's not." He paused, inhaled, then shook his head once more.

"I thought you said--"

"He was my spotter. We were a pair in the NCR, not. We're not even friends anymore."

There were more segmented sections of sentences than usual in Boone's speech and Arcade couldn't help but enjoy that flustered look on Boone. He suppressed the shiver of amusement (and something else) and kept time with Boone's slowed steps. "So, you're not interested in men, or just in him?"

It was a dirty question to pull when Boone was so clearly uncomfortable from just the thoughts.

A flash of irritation washed over Boone's face and he glared over at Arcade. "Why?"

"It's just conversation."

"I can see where you got your pushiness now." He increased his pace and quickly got himself several yards ahead of Arcade. "Keep up."

"Oh, come on. I guess I'll take that as a compliment though. Daisy's a good woman. And she's only a bit pushy, right?"

Boone snorted.

Arcade couldn't keep the corners of his lips from pulling into a most devious smirk.

\---~~~---

"This is me." Boone stepped through the doorway.

Arcade entered and closed the door behind them. "It's no Ultra-Luxe, but I'll be honest, that's a great thing. It's a decent place you've got here."

"You can rent a room from Cliff if you need to."

"Oh, and here I thought we were sticking together. Safety in numbers and all that."

"There are other rooms." Boone sat on the edge of his bed and leaned over to unlace his boots and tug them free.

"True, but if I go see Cliff, he's sure to tell Daisy. If I tell Daisy, she'll ask what the occasion for me coming to the town itself is. Then she's sure to try and finally get me set up with Manny. I don't come to town normally, you remember. We meet up outside of it for a reason."

Boone tilted his head back just enough to show the irritation in his eyes, over the tinted glasses. "So when she sees you here in my room?"

Arcade lifted an empty bottle of beer from the edge of a worn dresser and twirled it a bit, watched the last few musty drops swirl about along the glass bottom. He didn't look back at Boone. "Two birds, one stone, I believe that saying works here. If she thinks I'm busy, and you're busy, she'll stop trying to set us up, right?" He glanced over his good shoulder and wordlessly set the bottle back down on the dresser.

If Boone reacted negatively, he'd let it go. He'd rent a room. They'd never speak of it again. But...

"Fine." Boone stood, reached behind his neck, then tugged his shirt up over his belly, chest, and past his shoulders. "But when that plan backfires because she's too slick for either of us to fool her, I will say I told you so."

"Fair enough. I'm definitely not the sort to pass up a chance to gloat when I can. And when she leaves us both alone and stops trying to set up blind dates every chance she gets, I'm not holding back either."

"I doubt she'll be convinced." Boone reached for the belt buckle and swiftly undid it with both thumbs working in tandem. A moment later, he tugged the belt free and snapped it down on a chair near the bed.

Bedtime it was. Arcade couldn't complain, even if his stomach gurgled with irritation. He took a cue from Boone's impromptu stripping and worked his own clothes off with much the same casual manner, even if he couldn't help but feel a static that wound itself over his skin and begged to be touched and rubbed away by the other.

Clearly he'd read too many novels. True, normally the one feeling the sparks was the woman, the 'heroine' of the story, but he was an imaginative man and he could put himself into either place in most of those cheap novels. Such a strong imagination he had, sometimes he could even imagine himself as the dashing rogue who swept the hero off their feet.

This, this was not one of those times exactly, but that didn't keep the thoughts from satisfying him.

He crawled into bed beside Boone. He was the best at not staring, so he hadn't stared at all when Boone had stripped to nudity. He'd just done the same; he followed that cue, that potential clue, and moved beneath the covers as well.

"I forgot that this hotel makes some spots in Freeside look like a resort."

"It's better than a burnt shack and Legion corpses rotting nearby, isn't it?"

"Oh, I'm not arguing that. I'm just saying, there are better places to sleep." He honestly probably shouldn't complain. After all, his little blanket and pillow on a moldy mattress back with the Followers wasn't exactly high style living. He didn't crave the best things, he just... He couldn't help himself sometimes.

Boone settled in, and shut his eyes.

He shifted under the covers a bit and struggled to keep himself still.

There was that anxiety again. It wiggled itself into the front of his mind, and lead him into being less sleepy and more wired. He could practically hear the tick of a clock, even if there wasn't one present and working, and hadn't been for probably two centuries. The internal clock tick was even more irritating, actually. He couldn't just take out the power source.

Boone rolled onto his side. Tired eyes met Arcade's gaze. They were nice eyes with a pleasant color, especially without those sunglasses to cover them. "This bed squeaks."

"I've noticed."

"You're moving a lot."

"Noticed that too. At least we're on the same page, right?"

"Is there something wrong? Are you hurting?"

A quick check revealed that yes, he was hurting. "Aren't you? I should probably look at your arm."

"I'm fine."

"You lie, with a poker face that no one could believe. That's the same look you gave when you said you'd take the Stimpak yourself. Admit it, you're hurting too."

"It's nothing that won't heal."

"Yes, so let me help. That's literally my job. It's about the only thing I'm even remotely useful at."

"That's not true."

"Fine, I'm not all that useful at it either, going by where I get relegated with the Followers, but I still like to pretend."

Boone furrowed his brows in tight. "That's. That's not what I meant." He reached his arm up, and wiped his face with one hand, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes it seemed.

"Then what?"

"You're good at a lot of things." Boone pulled the hand away and let it flop onto the comforter. "I admire that." He shifted, and lay on his back.

Arcade lay still. There was that ticking again. Ticking clock, ticking time. The silence felt like a bomb. "Let me look at your arm."

"Let's just sleep."

"If it's fine, I won't bother you about it for a while."

"Huh. A while?"

"A while. A stretch of time. Until it looks like it's bothering you again."

"Fine." He rolled onto his side, positioned himself so Arcade could more easily access his bandaged shoulder. "It's fine though."

It made more sense that they would sit up for this, but he rolled with it, literally. His own shoulder hurt a bit with the motion, but not so much he couldn't continue. He stroked at the tightly toned arm muscles, reached upwards in a smooth stroke towards the bandage.

Boone's eyes, no longer covered by glasses, focused fully and wholly on Arcade's hands.

He peeled back the bandage. Examined the wound. "It's healing very well. Stimpaks are something of a miracle of medicine. We don't even need these bandages anymore."

"That's good." Boone shifted, a simple readjustment of his legs so he was closer to Arcade by an inch or several. "Can you take it off then?"

Novels of dubious realism clouded his head. One in particular, 'Midnight Hospital Romance' he'd enjoyed thoroughly up until the burn marks made it unreadable and he'd never gotten to the ending. But some of the last words had been some that Boone had just uttered.

Ah, but he never shied away from being a fool, did he? Arcade nodded, and carefully removed the bandage. "Do you feel any... tenderness?" He rubbed at the now scarred skin, eased thumb and fingers over the spot in a slightly less than professional way.

"Nothing I can't ignore. I've just been stroking it when it hurts. That makes it feel better."

Maybe it was in Arcade's head. Maybe this would get him kicked out of the motel, or worse. But he imagined, he swore he heard, Boone hitch in his breath a bit. Certainly, Boone adjusted himself once more in a way that Arcade might even call squirming.

Arcade massaged at the spot. "How does that feel?" He strived to keep a more professional tone, but it dipped into a rumble. He wasn't a master of self-control some nights.

Boone's leg brushed up against Arcade's. "Good."

"Just good?"

Boone stared at Arcade's face. He swallowed a moment later, then leaned closer. "I've never been good at this."

"At what?"

A pause lingered, clung to Boone's barely parted lips. Finally, it slipped away on the back of Boone's words. "Talking."

Now or never, something in Arcade screamed. It was the most ill-advised internal voice he had, but on some occasions, he gave it the wheel. Here, it steered him into Boone, pressed their lips together in a firm kiss.

Boone sighed into the kiss, then leaned further and pulled Arcade up against his own chest. He parted from the kiss, caught his breath.

"Well, you're decent at kissing at least."

Boone grinned. "Just decent?"

Arcade ducked back into a kiss, moved his one arm from Boone's arm to the back. After a minute or so of pressing lips to Boone's, of tasting the barest hints of alcohol mingled with something more innate and masculine, he pulled back once more. "Alright, you got me. Better than average. Still, I like a man who takes charge some--" He didn't have time to finish his words.

Boone lay over him, his body firm and thick over Arcade's form. A smirk tugged at those thin lips, and threatened to spill over into a smug smile.

Arcade kissed it before he had to witness that.

Boone nipped lightly, testing it seemed. He ground his hips down along Arcade's own, gave no quarter with how much pressure he applied there, even if he held his own upper body up just enough it didn't press down on Arcade's too hard.

That just wouldn't do. Tenderness in the morrow be damned, Arcade gripped Boone by both shoulders and forced him down.

Boone took that hint well. A weight pressed deeper against Arcade's chest, pelvis, hips. Everything felt fuller.

If he keened a little when Boone's teeth nibbled at his ear, what was the harm in that? If he clawed his trimmed nails along Boone's back to encourage the bites a bit more, he could heal them both later. It was fine. It was all fine. It was so much better than fine, he could barely stand it.

"Been a while?"

Arcade blinked back up at them and panted a few times before he brought enough sense to the forefront to realize Boone asked him something. A few more neurons in his brain brought the words to mind, and he nodded. Nodded so hard, it almost hurt his stiff neck. "You have no idea."

"I might have some idea." Boone kissed at Arcade's jaw, then bit along the curve where stubble always promised to grow but never did.

Right. Arcade arched his body up, brought his hands clawing down Boone's back. "So."

Boone paused a kiss, then lifted up a bit and regarded Arcade. "So?"

"Have you done this? You seem like you've done this, but..."

"But?" A brow quirked up and Boone seemed to hold more words in than just that one.

"You get so red when I would even hint at it. It's a lot of mixed signals." Gift horse, mouth. He needed to stop talking. This wasn't the time to inspect if Boone might regret it later, that voice he'd given room to work with earlier insisted.

Still. He didn't want to take advantage. Or think more of this than there was.

There it was, that look that had made Arcade play his fingers along the spine of the trigger on his defender earlier. The look he'd seen in others, of thought just before they bolted, or betrayed in some cases.

Boone nodded. "I haven't. I've. Thought. About it. Recently a lot." There came the truth, and another confirmation of Boone's prior statement. He wasn't good at talking. It seemed that was truer when he was naked, hard, and writhing down over Arcade.

Arcade didn't hide the smile that lit up his features, he just reached up at pulled Boone back down into a kiss. "Good."

"Just good?" Boone tried to hide his... apprehension? Shyness? Something, but it crept forward and colored the lightly teasing words as well.

"I guess we'll find that out, won't we?"

The smile eased into something more sincere. "Yeah. I guess we will."

\---~~~---

Arcade wasn't one to just let someone else do all the work. He didn't (usually) just lay back and take it. Certainly not here with Boone, when Boone looked so handsome, slick with sweat, beneath him. Arcade rose his hips, then brought himself back down, completed a cycle and just went on going. Every few rises, he'd scratch light pink marks along that lightly haired chest. Every so often, he'd return one of the nips and kisses with one of his own, placed at Boone's neck, or ear, or lips even.

Boone's own fingers curled and stroked in loose patterns of need along Arcade's back. With every drop of Arcade's body over Boone's own, those fingers pressed with more intensity, worked at a heavy massaging pace.

That length in him, thick and slightly curved, it teased so deep. It struck something so nice. He lifted his chest away from Boone's, despite their sigh and grunt at the motion. "I'm not too much for you, am I?"

"Please." It wasn't begging. Boone's voice didn't contain the sarcasm, it spilled over into an eye roll. With a slight reprieve from full skin contact though, Boone took a moment to wipe a bit of moisture from his forehead and away from his eyes.

Arcade grinned, then began to roll his hips and stroke at his own chest and nipples. "Are you sure? We can stop if it's too much."

The way Arcade undulated seemed to affect Boone; it definitely got him groaning louder, his mouth no longer able to nip and suck to successfully hide the noises. "It's fine."

He pulled up, almost entirely parted from Boone's length. Only the head remained inside, though it threatened to pop free.

Boone reached up, grasped at Arcade's hips and thighs in wide hands.

Arcade slapped lightly at those hands. "Oh, no." He shook his head, but kept that grin right in place so Boone understood.

The sigh filled the room. Boone thumbed gently at those upper inner thighs, coaxed at Arcade silently to implore him to lower. To continue.

At least, Arcade chose to take it that way. He slowly, achingly, lowered himself back onto Boone, until it hilted and he felt pelvis against his bottom. "Do you want it faster?" He reached hands forward, grasped carefully but firmly at Boone's thick shoulders.

Boone nodded, panted, bucked. Mouth hung open, but words didn't seem able to come out, just fallen syllables.

Boone wasn't chatty under the best of circumstances. Arcade could have some mercy. Maybe. But he loved teasing.

Faster it was, but he never fully descended, never let Boone fill him completely.

"Please." This time it had much more of a begging tone. It wasn't begging, not outright, even if the word could be seen or heard that way.

It was closer to what he wanted. Arcade bit his bottom lip and tilted his head, as though it were surprising. As though he hadn't expected that need. "Yes?"

"You're a real... bastard sometimes."

He let out the laugh and even rewarded the passed-as-pillow-talk with a few downward slams that got Boone to shudder and tighten the grip on Arcade's thighs. "What do you want?"

There was a glimmer of something. In the wrong lighting, Arcade might even say those eyes reminded him of their first argument, there in the shack days before.

Then Boone smiled, less murderous than that first smile. More sincere. Still, very devious.

Oh dear. Perhaps he'd pressed too-- Arcade moaned and thumped onto his back on the squeaky mattress. Though the springs cried with displeasure under him, he only called out his enjoyment. Still, "Oh, you brute." Even held down by strong arms, legs curled up and folded down over towards the sides of his chest, he teased back as though it were nothing. As though he were in charge and merely tolerating this defiance.

Boone sucked at the left nipple, the only one free from bandages. "Mmhm." Hips rolled, smoothly at first. A few moments into an easy pattern, Boone increased his pace, broke his force right into a deep intensity.

Arcade reached down for his own cock, emboldened by Boone's own sudden assertiveness.

Boone tapped the wrist away, pushed it and the other up towards Arcade's head, held them into the soft pillow. That mouth broke free from its light nibble, those lips curled into a definitely defiant smirk. "Oh, no."

"Who's the bastard now?"

"Me, actually. But Ma didn't talk about that much." And just like that, Boone forced those wet lips down into a rough kiss. A crushing kiss. Hips pulled back and slammed forward, kept that same bruising pace and pressure up until Arcade felt too high for it all.

He arched, squirmed, shifted. He lifted his legs up, higher, tighter over Boone's shoulders. Arcade felt a rush of determination to not be the only one too sore to move much the next day. Hell, maybe they'd do this again the next day, make the entire week sore and heady and incredible.

He barely registered when two hands on his wrist became one holding both. He definitely noticed when that same free hand reached down and loosely stroked his cock. Though the hand moved along his length, it seemed far more tentative than any of Boone's sure thrusts would indicate.

Arcade sighed pleasure and curled his fingers to stroke at Boone's hand gently. "Just like that. Just, exactly, like that. A bit faster, yes. Perfect." Emphasis on exactly, and he couldn't help but buck into the hand. Well, he could have, but with such an uncertain hand on his private parts, he wanted to encourage Boone.

It worked.

Boone increased the pace of his hand, tugged Arcade in time to the thrusts of his hips. "Where should I?" It was a glimmer of a real question, as uncertain if it should be there as that steady hand had been initially.

"Pull out. I want to see it." He tugged his own hands free from Boone's single one, and reached down to ease Boone's hand away. He could take over from here.

Boone nodded, pulled back, and went to work stroking his own length.

Here, he finally pulled his feet away from their shoulders and moved to sit up in front of them, on his knees just like they were.

Arcade wasn't the type to compare sizes, but if he were, he might mention how if feet size correlates to dick size, he was slightly more narrow but longer in size when it came to shoes. He wouldn't ever say it out loud, of course.

"You're staring." Boone grunted, jerked into his hand, as opposed to jerking his hand over his cock.

"I'm sure you can forgive, considering the--" He cut himself off, worked his own orgasm out just a bit faster than he intended, right over the thin blanket. "Circumstances."

Boone hadn't much held back any of his grunts, his sighs, his moans, during sex. But here, he worked into a rhythm he'd no doubt used many a lonely night. He was silent, with eyes screwed shut and lips pursed with concentration.

Not much longer later, Boone finished with the barest breath of a sigh, and slumped over, lay his head lightly over Arcade's good shoulder.

The intimate moment popped as quickly as it took for the door to open. In stepped their friend.

Paper fluttered from their hand, eyes widened like their stance. An instant later, they said a quiet, "Oops, wrong room," stepped back through the doorway and shut the door tightly.

Arcade wanted to be mad. Really, he did. But he didn't have the energy to be angry, or paranoid, or much of anything besides flat on his back. So he fell backward and rested on the pillow. "Well, that'll teach them to not knock before entering a room."

Boone sighed and shook his head, "No, it won't." He carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed, strode forward, and locked the door at the bolt at the top. "Must've been exhausted, to not lock it before."

"Or distracted." Arcade moved just quick enough to strike a modelesque pose, with legs crossed over one another, and good arm lifted over his head at a sharp angle.

Boone snorted, which broke into loud laughter after a moment. He lifted the letter up from the worn carpeting and glanced over to Arcade. "You."

"Me?"

"This." He brandished it, then stepped forward and knelt onto the edge of the bed.

 _Hey there,_  
_So, if you're reading this, you either came back for us and found us gone, or you're not our friend at all and you're probably just wondering why this shack looks so newly destroyed! Well, where to begin? Legion attacked, if the baker's dozen of corpses piled up nearby wasn't enough for you to piece it together from their pieces._

Legion would not have gained our position, if we had not attempted to stay in one place for your benefit. It's been nearly three days. We are headed where you sleep most often.

_Additionally, we fought and killed a massive deathclaw successfully. Not to mention we killed all the Legion men, while grievously injured, I might add. If you intend to go gallivanting about without concern for your companions in the future, do us a favor and just tell us to go our own way, won't you?_

_Oh, and before you wonder, yes, we did use all your C4, along with some of your other goodies. We're also taking these weapons you stored here. Guess you'll have to come find us if you want them back. Spoils of war and all that._

_Yours Truly_  
_P.S. I'd tell you to go fuck yourself, but you have been known to take me literally and I am far too annoyed with you to want you to find some sense of self-satisfaction right now. Besides, I'd rather be the one doing any kind of fucking anytime soon. And if all goes well, I will! Introducing him to me was about the only thing that might save you from my ire._

Arcade grinned, though he'd be the first to admit it was something of a sheepish gesture there. "So, I had my hopes up. Can you blame me?" Maybe the smile turned a bit pouty. He wasn't one to manipulate people with his words and facial features, but yes he was. Absolutely he was.

"No." Boone set the letter aside, then moved over top Arcade's body once more. "I knew you did."

"Oh? Mister Emotions knew this was coming, did you?"

Boone leaned in, breathed ever so slight against the coil of Arcade's left ear. "I was worried the other night, so I stayed. I heard."

"That's an interesting cocktail of creepy, erotic, and sweet. I can't say I don't enjoy it, but it's definitely a heady thing to swallow."

"So was hearing what you said."

Touché. Arcade wrapped his arms about Boone and rolled them both to the side. It hurt, but oh well. Such was life. "What do we do about them?"

"They don't sleep here. They've got a room on the other end of the motel."

"But I think I can hear Daisy and them upstairs."

Boone blinked.

Arcade arched his brows up. "Looks like I win. And we didn't even have to pretend anything."

"You're a real bastard sometimes." Boone flopped onto his back and tugged the blanket up from under them, onto them. "I'll be hearing about this for weeks."

"Weeks?"

"Months..."

"You'll be lucky if she ever stops talking about this." He sighed and settled into the bed. "There are worse things that could happen."

"Mmhmm." Boone's voice was low, far away.

A moment later, Arcade smiled and listened to the little snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arcade also finally does what he's wanted to do for a while, so I'm sure that's what you were all actually waiting for.

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought to myself, "Self, wouldn't it be neat if you could have two human companions at the same time, and you made them wait in a compromising situation while you went off to do fuck all in the desert?" So this was born.
> 
> Their location is Harper's Shack, in case y'all aren't familiar. Nice early game area to put your things, so long as you don't run into trouble.
> 
> If you have any prompts you'd like filled, comment and let me know.


End file.
